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SNNA-  KATHARINE -GREEN 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

THE  DEFENCE  OF  THE  BRIDE, 
AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

I6MO,  CLOTH,  $1.00. 

"  The  ballads  and  narrative  poems  which  form  the  greater 
part  of  this  collection  are  vigorous  productions,  whose  bar 
renness  of  redundant  words  and  epithets,  and  whose  directness 
and  straightforwardness  of  narrations,  are  in  strong  contrast 
with  the  diffuse  garrulity  of  most  female  writers.  She  has 
the  true  story-teller's  faculty  for  investing  what  she  has  to 
say  with  interest,  and  for  keeping  expectation  on  the  stretch ; 
and  she  delivers  her  message  with  masculine  force  and 
brevity." — Harper's  Monthly  Magazine. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 
NEW  YORK. 


RISIFI'S   DAUGHTER 


A  DRAMA 


BY 


ANNA  KATHARINE  GREEN 


NEW  YORK  &  LONDON 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 


1887 


COPYRIGHT    BY 

AXNA  KATHARINE  GREEN 


Press  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
New  York 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


OSALDI — A  Florentine  prince. 

GIOVANNI,  } 

>  His  sons. 
CAMILLO,    ) 

RISIFI — A  wealthy  merchant. 

ZENO — Friend  and  confidant  of  OSALDI. 

LEON,    } 

>  Gentlemen. 
SILVIO,  ) 

URBINO— Friend  and  confidant  of  RISIFI. 

ANTONIO. 

BEPPO. 

PAULO. 

PAGE. 

PRIEST. 

MESSENGER. 

GINEVRA — Daughter  of  RISIFI. 

BIANCA. 


762883 


ACT    I. 


ACT    I. 

SCENE — A   dismantled  room  in  the   Osaldi  palace. 
Enter  OSALDI  and  GIOVANNI. 

GIOVANNI. 

What,  gone  ?     All  gone  ?  fame,  fortune,  substance, 

lands  ? 
Nought  but  the  title  left  ? 

OSALDI. 

Ay,  ay,  nought  else. 

The  goodly  tree  of  our  most  ancient  house 
Which  for  so  long  a  time  hath  stood  the  shock 
Of  every  wind  of  heav'n,  hath  fall'n  at  last  ; 
And  I  th'  unhappy  cause. 

GIOVANNI. 
Thou? 

OSALDI. 

But  for  me, 

For  me  and  that  wild  folly  of  the  blood 
Which  would  not  look  on  danger  in  the  bud, 
However  brave  to  meet  it  in  the  flower, 
You  and  your  brother  might  have  stood  this  day 
3 


4  JtlSTFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

Among  the  proudest  nobles  in  the  land, 
Instead  of  hiding  in  these  dim  old  halls 
Heads  that  were  made  for  council,  hands  for  fight, 
And  hearts  whose  manly  worth  a  father  sees 
Bat  dares  not  praise  too  much,  lest  men  should  say, 
"  The  loss  of  fortune,  favor,  and  repute 
Hath  made  the  old  man  mad  ;  low  as  he  is, 
He  thinks  to  charm  the  world  back  to  his  feet 
With  his  two  needy  sons."    Ah,  my  Giovanni, 
Ton  are  too  gentle ;  yon  but  wrench  the  sword 
When  you  should  boldly  draw  it.     Wrong  like  this, 
Demands  a  harsher  treatment. 

GIOVASXI. 

Wrong  ?    Well,  yes, 

Perhaps  it  was  a  wrong.     Bat  when  did  wrong 
E'er  mount  so  high  that  love  could  not  outsoar  it  ? 
Father,  I  lore  you,  and  in  that  word  toss 
The  past  away  forever.     As  for  the  future, 
If  we  be  born  Osaldis,  let  us  be 
Osaldis  to  die  core,  and  made  to  bend, 
Stoop  with  such  strength  we  crush  the  thing  we 

stoop  to, 

And  rise  up  lords  again.  Yon  smile,  my  sire  ; 
Does  my  weak  body  pat  to  shame  my  words  ? 
If  so,  my  deeds  must  pat  to  shame  my  body. 

OSALDL 

If  I  did  smile  it  was  with  pride,  my  boy, 

To  find  my  fl^gfafrgs  JM»«  »     You  and  your  brother 

Are  two  young  eagles  hatched  upon  a  rock 


RISIFI'S  DA  UGHTER.  5 

But  needing  nought  but  your  great  eagle  hearts 
To  teach  you  how  to  mount.     Oh  that  my  strength 
Were  as  my  years,  that  I  might  live  to  see 
Your  wings  above  the  clouds  ! 

GIOVAJOffL 

You  will,  you  wilL 
By  this  right  arm's  good  force  - 

OSJLLDL 

No  force,  my  son  ; 

I  am  too  old  for  force.    I  fain  would  see 
The  end  before  I  die,  and  fortune  forced, 
Yields  not  till  blood  and  sinew,  heart  and  brain 
Have  well-nigh  spent  themselves. 

GIOVAJfXL 

How  then  attain  ? 
OSALDL 

As  you  attain  the  fruit  of  yonder  tree  ; 
Stand  up  and  reach,  my  son. 

GIOVAXXL 

But  all  are  reaching, 
And  what  am  I  that  I  alone  should  pluck  ? 

OSALXH. 
Yon  are  a  prince. 


Ay,  but  you  say  a  poor  one, 
And  gold  seeks  gold. 


6  R 1 'SIFT'S  DA  UGHTER. 

OSALDI. 

True  if  it  seek  not  rank. 

Boy,  you  are  dull,  methinks.  The  ripest  fruit 
Which  hangs  within  the  reach  of  noble  youth, 
Falls  but  through  woman's  favor.  You  must  wed. 

GIOVANNI. 
Ah! 

OSALDI. 

For {Enter  ZENO. 

But  hold  !  here  comes  our  worthy  Zeno  ; 
Step  back,  I  pray,  but  do  not  quite  withdraw  ; 
I  'd  speak  to  you  anon. 
[GIOVANNI  draws  back.     OSALDI  approaches  ZENO. 

Well,  well,  what  news  ? 
What  says  the  sleek  Rigoli  ? 

ZENO. 

Good,  my  lord, 
The  worthy    count    sends    greeting ;   knows  your 

fame 

And  bows  unto  it  ;  knows  your  son's  deserts 
And  cries  himself  his  servant ;  feels  them  both 
Too  weighty  in  the  balance  'gainst  his  daughter, 
And  therefore  must  decline  the  brave  alliance 
You  bade  me  to  propose. 

OSALDI. 

Ay,  ay,  ay,  ay, 
A  smooth,  soft  message,  but  it  breaks  my  heart. 


XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  7 

My  fame  ?      Great   heavens  !      My  deserts  ?      Ye 

powers  ! 

They  are  most  weighty.    Had  we  owned  more  gold, 
Methinks  we  then  had  seen  a  miracle, 
Since  what  had  made  all  other  scales  weigh  down 
Had  tossed  this  up  in  air.     Ah,  well,  the  world 
Speaks  suavely  in  this  answer  of  Rigoli. 

ZENO. 

My  lord,  a  five  year  hence  the  Count  Rigoli 
Will  think  himself  much  honored  if  he  gain 
So  much  as  late  admission  to  Osaldi. 

OSALDI. 

Hath  Giocchi  then 

ZENO. 

My  gracious  lord,  no  Giocchi ; 
There  's  craft  in  Giocchi  blood  ;  I  like  not  Giocchi. 

OSALDI. 

Ay,  but  what  said  he  ?     Something  blunt,  I  wot. 
What  said  the  jealous  Giocchi  ? 

ZENO. 

Truly,  Prince, 

He  said  no  more  than  this  :  "  When  proud  Osaldi 
Can  show  a  fortune  equal  to  his  birth, 
Then  let  him  seek  my  daughter. 


8  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

OSALDI. 

When,  when,  then  f 

And  does  he  think  we  e'er  should  seek  his  daughter 
Were  we  so  much  as  by  one  scudo  richer  ? 
Fie  on  him  and  his  daughter  ! 

ZENO. 

Yea,  my  lord, 
We  are  well  rid  of  Giocchi.     As  to  Uzzi 


OSALDI. 

Good  !  what  of  Uzzi  ? 

ZENO. 

He  but  stared  upon  me, 
And  waving  wide  the  fringes  of  his  sleeve, 
Passed  by  without  a  word. 

OSALDI. 

And  this  from  Uzzi  ! 
Time  was  when  had  an  Uzzi  but  so  much 
As  laid  his  hand  upon  my  grandsire's  arm, 
An  hundred  swords  had  winged  them  to  the  light 
To  thrust  the  insult  back.     O  we  are  fallen  ! 
Our  day  is  dead  indeed. 

ZENO. 

Never  so  dead 
But  it  will  rise  again.     There  yet  is  one 

OSALDI. 
Who  ?  who  ? 


KISIFI'S  DA  UGHTER. 

ZENO. 

An  honorable  man,  my  lord, 
Of  wealth  so  great,  Rigoli,  ay,  or  Giocchi, 
Could  not  heap  up  bajocchi  to  his  scudi. 
One  with  a  daughter  as  exceeding  fair 
As  the  Rigoli  's  foul  ;  a  woman,  Prince, 
As  young  as  Giocchi's  daughter,  and  as  chaste 
As  Uzzi's  wife  is  not.     And  though  no  count — 
Have  you  not  had  enough  of  counts,  my  lord  ? 
A  man  of  such  high-reaching,  quick  ambition, 
That  in  default  of  wealth  more  merchantable, 
He  'd  give  his  very  life-blood,  drop  by  drop, 
To  see  his  daughter  wedded  honorably. 
Ah,  I  have  heard  him  talk  !  no  count,  I  say, 
But  yet 

OSALDI. 

No  count  ?     Belike  a  noble,  then, 
In  all  but  titles  :  simple  seignior,  Zeno, 
But  of  most  gentle  pedigree  and  station. 

ZENO. 

No  pedigree,  my  lord  ;  but  patience  !  tell  me 
Is  it  for  names  we  suffer  more  this  hour, 
Or  gold  to  make  the  names  which  we  possess 
As  lustrous  as  they  should  be  ? 

OSALDI. 

But  this  seignior  ? 

This  brave,  discreet,  and  most  ambitious  father- 
What  is  he  called,  good  Zeno  ? 


10  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

ZENO. 

Prince,  you  know  him  ; 
Risifi  is  his  name. 

OSALDI. 

A  merchant  ?    Heavens  ! 

What  have  I  done  that  you  should  mock  me  thus. 
A  merchant  !  a  Risifi  !  O  have  pity  ! 

ZENO. 

My  lord,  it  is  because  of  my  great  pity 

That  I  commend  this  same.     A  merchant,  true, 

But  yet  a  man  of  spotless  honor  also  ; 

No  Uzzi,  Prince,  in  this.     A  merchant,  true, 

But  yet  with  a  most  exquisite  sweet  daughter, 

And  no  Rigoli  here.     A  merchant,  yes, 

But  one  with  mind  to  yield  his  daughter  up, 

And  in  this  also,  neither  churl  nor  Giocchi. 

My  lord,  if  you  do  wed  your  son  to  her, 

You  '11  live  to  see  three  counts  below  your  knee, 

And  those  are 

OSALDI. 
Hold  !  this  daughter,  have  you  seen  her  ? 

ZENO. 
Yea,  I  have  seen  her. 

OSALDI. 

Is  she  merchant  too  ? 

Are  barter,  bales,  and  commerce  writ  upon  her  ; 
Shows  she  her  blood,  good  Zeno  ? 


JRISIfTS  DAUGHTER.  II 

ZENO. 

Just  so  much 

As  the  rich  rose  shows  it  is  born  of  briers  ; 
She  is  most  lovely,  Prince. 

OSALDI. 

And  young,  you  say  ? 

ZENO. 
Scarce  sixteen,  yet,  my  lord. 

OSALDI. 

And  chaste  ? 

ZENO. 

Ah,  Prince, 

She  wears  her  spirit  plainly  on  her  brow, 
A  white  star  in  a  cloudless  firmament. 

OSALDI. 
Hum  !  and  a  merchant's  daughter  ! 

ZENO. 

Virtue,  Prince, 
Doth  need  no  pedigree  to  make  it  lovely. 

OSALDI. 

Nor  gold,  it  seems.     Ah,  ah,  and  must  it  be  ? 

Must  Ugo,  mighty  Ugo  lend  his  blood 

To  make  Risifi  great.     It  is  too  much.        \A  pause, 

Zeno,  the  storm  blows  heavy  on  Osaldi 

And  we  must  bend  or  break.     If  I  were  now 


12  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  two  score  younger,  I  would  cry,  "  Blow  on 

And  break  us  if  thou  can'st ;  we  will  not  stoop." 

But  I  am  old  ;  my  sons,  my  two  brave  sons 

Sit  heavy  at  my  heart,  and  so  we  bend  ; 

May  Heav'n  make  light  the  storm  o'erwhelming  us  ! 

ZENO. 

It  will,  my  lord,  it  will.     O  joyful  day  ! 

O  happy,  happy  day  !     O  most  kind  day  !       {.Exit. 

OSALDI,  bitterly. 
Ah,  happy  day  indeed  !     [  To  GIOVANNI.] 

Son,  by  your  leave, 

Another  word  with  you.     Touching  that  matter 
We  were  engaged  upon,  if  you  do  wed, 
'T  is  certain  you  must  wed  a  girl  of  dower  ; 
Is  it  not  so  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

In  truth  it  seems  so,  father. 

OSALDI. 

A  girl  of  goodly  dower  ;  of  wealth  enough 
To  build  our  old  house  up  unto  the  height 
Of  its  late  grandeur  ? 

GIOVANNI. 
Certain,  if  possible. 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  13 

OSALDI. 

Son,  it  is  possible.     Indeed,  to  tell  you  truly, 
I  know  of  such  a  one.     A  fair  girl  too, 
Of  beauty  most  bewitching,  and  though  lacking 
In  much  that  an  Osaldi  might  desire, 
Possessing  to  the  full  the  two  great  needs 
Of  loveliness  and  riches.     Can  you  trust  me  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Trust  you  ! 

OSALDI. 

Hold  !  you  would  ask  if  she  is  born 
Of  a  right  noble  race  ?     Son,  she  is  not ; 
But  lions  crouch,  and  so  may  an  Osaldi, 
If,  like  the  lion,  he  rouse  him  with  a  spring. 

GIOVANNI. 

Her  name,  father — her  name  ? 

OSALDI,  embarrassed. 

Her  name,  my  son  ? 

Her  name  ?    Why  ask  !     'T  will  be  Osaldi  soon. 
Nay,  then  ;  her  name  ?     It  is — it  is  Risifi, 
An  honest  one  enough. 

GIOVANNI. 

The  merchant's  daughter  ? 

OSALDI. 
How  !  do  you  start  at  that  ?    Are  you  so  proud  ? 


14  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GIOVANNI. 

No,  no,  not  proud.     I  was  but  thinking,  father, 
How  base  a  thing  it  is  for  one  who  hoped 
To  walk  above  all  earthly  littleness, 
To  lead  a  trusting  woman  to  the  altar 
Just  for  the  gold  she  brings. 

OSALDI. 

But  gold  brings  power, 

And  power  brings  honor  ;  you  will  sit  on  thrones 
With  riches  for  your  bride  ;  is  that  so  base  ? 
Boy,  you  are  young,  and  look  on  life  as  yet 
From  a  mere  hillock's  top.     To  you  the  future 
Is  but  the  present's  dim  continuance, 
And  change  a  thing  of  circumstance,  not  self, 
Whereas  self  changes  soonest.     What  to-day 
Seems  to  your  youth  the  only  good  in  life 
Will  be,  a  five  year  hence,  a  cause  of  laughter, 
If  not  of  secret  shame  and  stern  repentance. 
Life  is  no  plain,  however  vast  or  varied, 
But  rising  ground,  where  every  forward  step 
Shifts  the  horizon.     Then  be  wise,  my  son, 
And  whilst  you  plan  the  present,  O  remember 
The  manhood  that  will  tower  in  the  future, 
And  give  it  room,  room,  room.     And  now  no  more  ; 
I  go  to  plead  with  all  the  saints  for  thee, 
And  a  fair  issue  to  our  large  endeavors. 
Keep  counsel  till  we  meet,  and  then  I  look 
To  see  thee  smile  again,  for  on  thy  smile 
A  father's  pleasure  hangs  ;  a  father  true, 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  15 

Who  did  thee  once  a  wrong,  but  who  in  this 
Seeks  for  that  wrong  to  make  due  recompense. 

{Exit. 

GIOVANNI. 

So,  so,  thus  does  Giovanni  seal  his  fate, 

Like  all  his  race  before  him.     Is  it  well  ? 

Alas,  't  is  not  for  me  to  question  it.  \A  pause. 

And  thou,  sweet    image,    which,  though  seen  but 

once, 

Hath  ever  dwelt  within  Giovanni's  breast 
As  type  of  earth's  supremest  loveliness  ; 
Thou  who  with  one  unconscious  glance  hath  made 
A  garden  to  blow  ever  in  my  thoughts  ; 
Must  I  then  give  thee  up  ;  forego  the  hope 
I  scarcely  knew  was  hope  until  I  felt 
The  wreck  it  made  in  crumbling  into  ruin  ; 
Toss  from  my  soul  the  one  pure  joy  it  held 
Untarnished  from  the  world,  and  bowing  down 
My  head  unto  the  yoke  of  ancient  custom, 
See  all  that  makes  life  blessed  float  away 
With  that  one  dream  which  formed  my  happiness  ? 
Yes  ;  for  the  sake  of  these  I  love  so  well, 
My    white-haired    sire    and    him    who   calls    me 

brother, 

This,  and  much  more,  must  I,  Giovanni,  do  : 
May  Heaven  receive  the  willing  sacrifice  ! 


ACT   II. 


ACT    II. 

SCENE — Large  hall  in  the  Osaldi  palace. 
Enter  LEON  and  SILVIO,  meeting. 

LEON. 

What  's  this  ?    What  's  this  ?     Defiance  from  the 

south, 
And  Florence  filled  with  rumors  of  a  war  ? 

SILVIO. 

So  Beppo  says,  a  man  more  slow  to  prick 
The  gusty  bags  of  rumor,  than  to  act 
Upon  th'  event  when  it  calls  out  for  action. 

LEON. 

'T  is  news  to  rouse  Osaldi  and  awake 
The  slumbering  lion  in  Giovanni's  breast. 

SILVIO. 

Look  where  he  comes,  brows  bent  and  eyes  cast 

down 

As  though  Ambition  with  its  glowing  wand 
Had  stirred  his  humors  up. 

[Enter  GIOVANNI. 
19 


20  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

SILVIO,  starting  forward. 

Giovanni !     Count  ! 

LEON,  detaining  SILVIO. 

Stay,  man,  the  hawk  's  in  flight,  let  him  soar  on 
Unstayed  by  thee. 

SILVIO,  going. 

Then  here  's  for  lower  game. 
Alphonso  waits  within  the  antechamber  ; 
Let  us  to  him. 

LEON. 

Good  !  I  am  with  you  there. 

{Exeunt  LEON  and  SILVIO. 

GIOVANNI. 

Where  is  the  empty  sphere,  my  home  ? 

Where  is  the  will  to  measure  will  against ; 

The  rocks  to  wear  to  sands  with  my  flood  waves  ? 

Ah,  if — stupendous  if  ! — a  war  were  near 

Hot  with  the  smoke  of  conflict  ;  if  the  wind 

Were  blowing  that  should  bear  demanding  cries 

For  strength  and  valor  ;  if  the  so  small  cloud 

That  now  is  sailing  upward  from  the  south 

Should  grow — Then  woe  and  woe  again — and  yet, 

Proud  inward  giant,  lion-souled  Ambition, 

Thou  'dst  have  thy  freedom  then.     Woe  !     Yet  my 

soul 

Could  hurtle  'gainst  such  woe  and  strike  a  flame 
Of  lightning  out.     Ah,  if  the  cannon  shook 


XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  21 

The  ground  beneath  men's  feet ;  if  glare  were  death 

And  men  were  hurrying  from  this  world  in  crowds, 

Then  could  I  rise  upon  the  reeking  field 

And  shake  dilatingly  my  power  out 

In  face  of    those   white   brows.     If    need   should 

come — 

If  trembling  quailing,  halting,  veering — men 
Drew  back  from  vict'ry  side  by  side  with  Death, 
Then  I— 

Ah,  old  Thermopylae  !  thy  Shades 
White,  crowned  and  smiling  as  they  smiled  in  death, 
Pass  nigh  and  fill  my  breast  with  jealous  shame 
That  I  can  stretch  no  brother-hand  to  such  ! 
Ah,  warrior-creating  Marathon  ! 
That  drew  from  clay  great  hero-souls,  put  sword 
In  hand  of  Pleasure,  pricked  young  men  to  deeds 
Which  shake  the  world  e'en  now  !     Ah,  Hannibal, 
Surrounded  by  thy  long-haired  heroines  ! 

0  Crecy  !     Agincourt !  and  fields 

Where  ev'n  the  grass  that  blooms  grows  quiveringly 
In  pride  of  showing  where  a  hero  died  ! 

1  'm  one  of  you,  O  warriors,  and  my  feet 
Go  ever  wandering  towards  a  battle-field. 

[  The  castle  bell  rings. 

Ha  !  what  is  that  ?  \Shouts  within. 

[.Enter  LEON,  followed  by  others. 

How  now,  what  means  this  noise  ? 

LEON. 

'T  is  war's  alarm  !  revolt  is  in  the  south 
And  the  Duke  calls  for  soldiers. 


22  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GIOVANNI. 

War  ?     You  mock  me. 
Events  rush  not  so  close  upon  our  wish, 
Else  were  we  gods  and  circumstance  our  vassal. 
The  soldier-steel  that  buckles  to  my  side 
Hath  shook  its  music  in  your  ears  and  lo  ! 
You  cry  out  War  !  in  echo. 

LEON. 

No  ;  my  cry 

Is  single  and  most  true.     From  south  and  east 
Swells  the  loud  call.     Although  the  wind  be  low, 
There  's  import  in  it.     In  a  few  hours  hence 
Osaldi's  towers  will  shiver  in  its  blast 
And  his  deep  donjons  tremble. 

GIOVANNI. 

Welcome  to  it ! 

So  it  shake  ruin  from  our  walls  and  ope 
A  way  to  wealth  without  the  aid  of  woman. 
But  look,  the  Prince. 

{.Enter  PRINCE. 

LEON. 

We  will  remain  no  longer. 
\Exeunt  LEON  and  his  companions. 

GIOVANNI,  kneeling. 

Father,  your  blessing  !  In  yon  clarion  cry 
I  hear  a  call  worthy  Osaldi's  answer. 
Bless  me  and  let  me  go. 


RISIFrS  DAUGHTER.  2$ 

OSALDI. 

Hath  thy  young  blood 
Leaped  to  the  call  so  quick  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Yea,  as  the  echo 
Answers  the  huntsman's  horn. 

OSALDI. 

'T  is  well  ;  but  son, 

A  man  of  princely  blood  goes  not  to  war 
With  his  own  sword  alone.     You  must  have  men, 
And  men  means  gold,  and  gold  means 

GIOVANNI. 

Marriage  ? 

OSALDI. 

Yes. 

GIOVANNI. 

Oh,  I  had  hoped  the  heavens  had  turned  the  scale 
Against  that  hard  alternative.     But  fate 
Wills  not  to  man  both  fame  and  happiness  : 
He  who  would  rest  his  daring  foot  on  heights 
So  single  and  so  lofty,  ev'n  must  learn 
To  tread  his  own  heart  down. 

OSALDI. 

And  you  consent  ? 


24  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 


GIOVANNI. 


At  once,  so  this,  as  all  things,  speed  me  hence 
Unto  the  field  of  war. 

OSALDI. 

It  shall,  or  nought 

Shall  be  by  us  concluded.     Zeno,  good  friend, 
A  mission  for  your  wisdom. 

\Enter  ZENO. 
How !  your  frowns 

Speak  of  fresh  tidings.     Well,   what   now  ?    what 
now? 

ZENO. 

A  delegation,  Prince  ;  a  line  of  guests 
Drawn  up  before  the  gate  in  order  soldierly  ; 
A  goodly  company. 

OSALDI. 

Their  names  ?  condition  ? 

ZENO. 

Worthy  their  errand,  if  not  worthy  thee. 
Rigoli,  master,  Giocchi,  and  proud  Uzzi, 
In  all  the  pomp  of  retinue  and  horse. 

OSALDI. 

Ha,  the  three  foes  most  deadly  to  our  pride, 
And  seated  at  our  gates  !     Well,  let  them  sit. 
'T  is  not  to  wed  their  daughters  to  my  sons 
I  warrant  they  have  brought  their  insolent  state 
To  mock  my  house's  poverty.     Let  them  sit  J 


JVSIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  2$ 

Long  rank  has  made  us  patient ;  we  will  see 
If  their  new  honors  bide  the  bit  as  well. 


ZENO. 

But,  Prince,  they  bear  the  symbol  of  the  Duke. 
Not  petty  counties,  but  all  Florence  speaks 
In  their  shrill  trumps. 

OSALDI. 

So,  so,  as  War's  solicitors  they  come  ; 

'T  is  insolence,  but  we  '11  meet  it.  Friend,  your  ear. 

Away  to  the  Risifi  ;  give  him  hope 

Of  our  alliance  :  bring  us  pledge  of  his, 

And  let  the  whole  be  done  within  the  moment 

As  fast  as  horse  can  spring  or  wish  can  travel. 

Exit  [ZENO. 
O  we  will  meet  these  upstarts,  we  will  meet  them  ! 

GIOVANNI. 
The  trumps  grow  clamorous. 

OSALDI. 

It  is  music,  boy, 

Long  known  to  these  high  walls.     Let  it  sing  on. 
A  past  like  ours  commands  the  present's  patience. 

GIOVANNI. 
And  yet  for  courtesy. 

OSALDI. 

Hath  ruin  courtesy  ? 
Methought  that  ruin  had  no  grace  but  pride. 


26  RISIFPS  DAUGHTER. 

Yet  since  't  is  Florence  speaks,  hence  to  the  gates 
And  bid  the  strangers  welcome  in  the  name 
Of  Country  and  the  Duke.     But  first  your  arm 
Unto  my  chair  of  state.     Whate'er  betides, 
The  single  seat  this  room  contains,  holds  me. 

\_Seats  himself. 
[Exit  GIOVANNI. 

Ah,  I  will  show  these  nobles  of  a  day 
What  stuff  is  in  the  man  they  seek  to  trample. 

Enter  GIOVANNI,   ushering  in   RIGOLI,  Uzzi,   and 
GIOCCHI  with  their  suites. 

RIGOLI. 
Greeting,  my  lord  !     Rigoli  stands,  your  servant. 

OSALDI. 

'T  is  well,  Rigoli.     Thus  hath  your  sire  stood, 
And  your  sire's  sire  before  you.  Yours  too,  Giocchi ; 
And  yours  still  more,  proud  Uzzi. 

UZZI. 

Sooth,  my  lord, 

One  needs   must  stand  in  halls  where   seats   are 
lacking. 

GIOCCHI. 

And  cry  himself  your  servant  whom  the  Duke 
Honors  with  his  commands. 

OSALDI. 

So,  so,  the  Duke. 
Your  courtesy,  my  lords,  outsoars  my  thanks 


RISIFI  'S  DA  UGHTER.  2J 

And  puts  my  age  to  blush.     Before  such  wit 
My  threescore  ten  may  well  bow  down  its  head 
And  yield  its  seat  unquestioning.  [Rises. 

Your  wishes,  seigniors  ; 
In  deference  to  the  Duke,  I  stand  to  listen. 

uzzi. 

'T  is  well ;  the  Duke  shall  know  your  complaisance; 
'T  will  please  him,  doubtless. 

OSALDI. 

Come  !  your  message,  counts. 

RIGOLI. 

It  is  of  war.     Our  lord  Duke  goes  to  war 
With  all  his  chivalry.     You  have  two  sons  ? 

OSALDI. 

Ay,  ay. 

RIGOLI. 

Two  sons  of  such  an  ancient  house 
Should  shed  a  beacon-light  upon  the  field, 
Or  so  the  good  Duke  thinks.      Could   you   then 

spare 
Their  youth  to  the  fair  cause — 

OSALDI. 

Well,  well  ? 

RIGOLI. 

The  Duke 
Would  greet  them  with  all  honor,  them  and  theirs — 


28  JflSZFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  hundred  men  accoutered  to  the  full 
Were  company  sufficient — give  them  place 
And  generalship  ;  for  even  youth  hath  claims 
When  fivescore  men  come  pricking  at  their  heels. 
And  furthermore,  the  good  Duke  bids  us  say, 
That  for  the  loan  of  such  fair  sums  as  you 
May  in  your  wisdom  deem  commensurate 
With  your  past  fame  and  present  consequence, 
He  shares  with  you  in  fairness  such  results 
As  wait  upon  the  enterprise. 
Such  is  our  message  ;  may  your  answer  to  it 
Be  like  your  state  :  all  substance  if  no  show. 

[All  bow  mockingly. 

OSALDI,  aside. 

Now  may  the  saints  grant  patience  ! 

Counts,  my  state 

Greets  with  indulgence  your  conspicuous  effort 
At  unaccustomed  duties.     May  the  years 
Bring  you  more  aptitude.     As  for  your  message, 
It  doeth  honor  to  the  Duke  and  me  ; 
My  answer  to  it — [aside  to  GIOVANNI]  See  if  Zeno 

comes  ! 
[To  Counts]   I  will  consider.     [Aside]  O  to  haste 

him  hither  ! 

GIOCCHI. 

Stay  !  hear  Rigoli  out. 

OSALDI. 

What  !  is  there  more? 


XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  2$ 

RIGOLI. 

No  more  than  this  :  that  if  as  gossip  prates 
The  means  are  lacking  to  my  lord  the  Prince 
To  meet  the  hour's  demands  in  manner  fitting 
To  his  great  name  and  famous  heritage, 
The  good   Duke  shows   his    mercy,    and    remem- 

b'ring 

The  loneliness  of  age,  entreats  of  thee 
To  keep  thy  hearthstone  merry  with  thy  sons, 
Since   they  are  all  that  wretched   fortune   leaves 

thee. 

OSALDI. 

Ah,  ah,  the  Duke  is  kind  and  ye  are  kind. 
That  look  of  decent  shame  and  trembling  awe 
Becomes  your  faces  bravely.     Thanks,  my  lords  ; 
Ruin,  were  ruin  mine,  would  find  a  balm 
In  such  display  of  grateful  sympathy. 

\^They  bow  mockingly. 

GIOVANNI,  aside  to  OSALDI. 
Have  patience,  father  ;  malice  tips  their  scorn. 

OSALDI,  aside  to  GIOVANNI. 

Patience  ?     Oh,  ay  ;  such  as  the  lion  hath 
That  leaps  in  thought  with  every  burning  throb 
Of  his  hot  heart  against  the  bars  that  cage  him. 
No  sign  of  Zeno  yet  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

None  yet,  my  lord. 


3O  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GIOCCHI. 
So,  Prince,  you  understand  us  ? 

OSALDI. 

Ay,  too  well. 

Reverence  and  awe  are  easy  read,  my  lords, 
So  are  servility  and  slavish  fear. 
My  grandsire  Ugo  read  them  plain  enow 
Upon  the  faces  of  your  ancestors. 
But  come,  enough  of  this.     The  Duke's  command 
Awaits  its  answer.     Let  us — [Aside]  Ha,  the  sound 
And  clatter  of  a  horse  within  the  court.     [To  GIO 
VANNI.] 

Is    't   Zeno  ?     quick  !     who    waits    without  there  ? 
speak  ! 

GIOVANNI. 
Zeno,  my  lord. 

OSALDI  to  GIOVANNI. 

Good  !     Bid  him  give  you  straight 
The  answer  that  he  brings  me.     Note  it,  thou  ; 
And  if  it  pleasure  you,  if  fate  has  smiled, 
And  the  Risifi  cries  Amen  !  to  us, 
Lift  up  your  head  on  entering  ;  but  if  No, 
Bow  down  your  neck  as  God  bows  down  our  house 
Beneath  the  scornful  heel  of  fortune's  upstarts. 

[Exit  GIOVANNI. 

RIGOLI,  apart  to  uzzi. 

I  know  not  why,  but  I  like  not  his  looks  ; 
^Should  he  deceive  us,  we  should  show  some  small. 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  3! 

uzzi,  apart  to  RIGOLI. 

It  cannot  be.     Did  'st  mark  the  rats  our  steps 
Scared  from  the  arras  ?     They  were  lean,  my  lord  ; 
Lean  rats  bespeak  scant  larders. 

RIGOLI  apart  to  GIOCCHI. 

And  proud  looks, 
A  store  of  hidden  ducats. 

GIOCCHI  apart  to  RIGOLI. 

Do  not  think  it. 

Watch  how  he  trembles,  how  his  old  head  sinks 
With  less  and  lesser  hope  upon  his  breast. 
No  ducats  there,  good  friends. 

OSALDI,  with  effort,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  door. 

My  noble  seigniors, 

The  hour  has  come  to  answer.     Tell  the  Duke 
That  the  Osaldis'  fortunes  have  not  kept 
Strict  pace  with  their  desires.  Time  was  when  word 
Like  this  from  the  good  Duke  had  met  response 
As  thunder  follows  lightning.     But  years  and  folly, 
Love,  and  the  calls  of  war,  have  pricked  our  coffers, 
And   they   stand   somewhat  drained.      We — \with 
greater    effori\    are    poor — {.Door  opens,    GIO 
VANNI     enters,    head    erect.       OSALDI'S    voice 
rings  outl\ 

Ay  as  ye  guessed,  my  lords.     To  the  demand 
Of  the  great  Duke  for  soldiers,  we  can  send 
But  thrice  a  hundred,  duly  armed  and  mounted, 


32  RISTFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

Instead  of  the  five  thousand  he  had  thought 
Consonant  with  our  greatness.     As  for  money — 
Ten  thousand  scudi  paid  at  once  in  full, 
Must  meekly  ask  indulgence  of  the  Duke 
For  the  round  fifty  we  had  hoped  to  send  him. 
Is  it  enow  to  give  my  sons  a  place 
In  front  of  danger  ? 

RIGOLI,  embarrassed. 

Quite  enow,  my  lord. 
\Aside\  The  old  fox  has  deceived  us. 

GIOCCHI. 

Noble  prince, 

Florence  owns  you  its  debtor.     For  this  gift 
Accept  our  thanks  and  our  most  humble  service. 
Giocchi  salutes  you. 

RIGOLI. 

And  Rigoli. 

OSALDI. 

Good  my  lords, 

For  this  same  bending  of  your  haughty  necks 
My  purse  returns  you  suitable  reverence. 

RIGOLI. 

His  pride  o'erwhelms  us  ;  let  us  hence  at  once. 
Farewell,  Osaldi ;  your  sons  we  meet  anon. 

\Is  about  to  pass,  but  pauses  and  looks  back. 
As  for  the  matter  of  my  daughter,  Prince — 


XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  33 

OSALDI. 

My  lord,  the  jest  was  answered.     My  deserts, 

Ay,  and  my  fame, — small  as  it  is, — you  say, 

Lift  us  above  your  daughter.     It  is  well  ; 

I  would  not  add  to  your  humility  ; 

Speak  of  the  thing  no  more.  [RIGOLI  passes  on. 

uzzi. 

Uzzi  departs, 

But  not  without  repentance.     Should  my  lord 
Still  wish  to  wed  his  son  unto  my  daughter — 

OSALDI. 

Uzzi  might  pause.     Pass  on,  pass  on,  my  lord, 
We  need  you  not.     Upon  your  crooked  soul 
Repentance  sits  askew. 

GIOCCHI. 

Take  Giocchi's  farewell. 
As  for  the  lightness  of  our  seeming  scorn, 
Accept  the  sorrow  of  our  better  nature, 
And  speak  not  of  our  folly  to  the  Duke. 

OSALDI. 

I  am  Osaldi,  seignior,  and  not  Giocchi  ; 
I  never  speak  of  folly.     Hence  !  away  ! 


ACT  III. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. — A  room  in  the  Osaldi  palace. 
Enter  GIOVANNI  and  ZENO. 

GIOVANNI. 
You  say  she  's  fair. 

ZENO. 

Most  fair  ;  her  innocent  face 
Hath   that  sweet  look  which  comes  from  gentle 

thoughts, 

And  in  the  glance  of  her  large,  lucent  eye 
A  witchery  dwells  that  many  a  princely  dame 
Would  give  her  ancient  pedigree  to  add 
Unto  her  store  of  charms.     O  you  will  love  her 
When  you  shall  see  her. 

GIOVANNI. 

Think  you  so,  good  Zeno  ? 
A  heart  like  mine  springs  not  at  bliss  so  lightly. 
If  kindness  starts  unbidden  in  my  breast 
At  touch  of  her  soft  spirit,  it  is  all 
My  anxious  soul  dare  hope.     But  to  th'  affair 
For  which  we  've  met.     As  matters  look  to-day 
'T  is  time  I  saw  and  swore  allegiance  to 

37 


38  J?ZSfFS'S  DAUGHTER. 

This  fair  bewitchment,  lest  the  call  to  war 
Come  e'er  our  force  and  armament  be  ready. 

ZENO. 

So  thinks  the  noble  Prince,  and  so,  Risifi  ; 
Wherefore  it  chances  that  on  Agnes'  eve 
The  lordly  merchant  throws  his  portals  wide 
For  your  betrothal. 

GIOVANNI. 
Agnes'  eve  ?     'T  is  soon. 

ZENO. 

Meantime  your  father  prays  that  all  be  kept 
Secret  as  heretofore.     Your  brother — 

GIOVANNI. 

Well? 

ZENO. 

Comes  from  the  hunt  to-day.     See  that  he  smiles 
In  happy  ignorance  of  what  his  youth 
May  deem  a  degradation  to  his  name, 
Till  the  event  be  certain  and  his  scorn 
Fall  pointless  on  the  fixed  shield  of  fate. 

GIOVANNI. 

Unwelcome  tidings  are  as  restless,  seignior, 
As  untrained  falcons,  and  will  fly,  I  ween, 
Whether  we  will  or  no. 

ZENO. 

Not  if  the  jess 
Be  strong  and  the  hand  steady. 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  39 

GIOVANNI. 

Well,  well,  well. 

[Exit  ZENO. 

So,  so  !  but  three  days  now,  and  honor,  wealth, 
The  pomp  of  generalship,  and  pride  of  power 
Will  be  my  own,  and  life  be  set  at  last 
Within  the  groove  of  action.     'T  is  an  end 
Towards  which  my  thoughts  have  run  since 

youth  took  on 

Color  from  high  ambition  ;  yet,  alas  ! 
Where  is  the  joy  with  which  I  looked  to  see 
This  hour  of  triumph  crowned  ?     Gone  with  the 

love 

That  flushed  the  arid  mountain  tops  of  fame 
With  lustre  not  their  own.     Thus  runs  the  life 
Of  man  towards  disappointment.     To  be  great, 
Fits  not  with  to  be  happy.     Ah,  base  wretch, 
Who  would  have  all  or  none  ;  what,  then,  is  love  ? 
A  dream,  a  flitting  dream.     Shall  the  ship  pause 
Because  the  breath  of  orange-groves  comes  sweet 
From  some  near  siren  isle  ?     What  says  my  sire, 
A  man  whose  heart  for  threescore  years  and  ten 
Hath  run  the  gamut  of  earth's  joys  and  sorrows, 
And  touched  its  every  chord  :     "  In  man's  short 

span 

He  runs  on  many  a  hope.     To-day  't  is  love 
That  seems  his  only  good  ;  to-morrow,  knowledge  ; 
A  five  year  hence,  pow'r  and  the  chance  to  wield  it  ; 
A  decade  later  all  his  thought  is  profit ; 
Then  comes  old  age,  and  with  it  joys  of  ease, 
And  life  again  in  his  posterity." 


4O  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

It  is  the  voice  of  wisdom,  but  alas  ! 

What  youth  e'er  gave  it  heed  without  the  aid 

Of  harsh  experience.  [A  pause. 

Ah,  what  is  life  ! 

'T  is  but  a  passing  touch  upon  the  world  ; 
A  print  upon  the  beaches  of  the  earth 
Next  flowing  wave  will  wash  away  ;  a  mark 
That  something  passed  ;  a  shadow  on  a  wall, 
While  looking  for  the  substance,  shade  departs  ; 
A  drop  from  the  vast  spirit-cloud  of  God 
That  rounds  upon  a  stock,  a  stone,  a  leaf, 
A  moment,  then  exhales  again  to  God. 

Enter  CAMILLO,  singing. 

My  lady  sits  at  her  casement ; 

0  heatfn,  how  fair,  how  fair  ! 
The  jessamine  vines  about  her 
Make  halo  round  her  hair  : 

1  see,  and  longing,  lift  in  singing 
The  joy  and  pain  within  me  springing. 

My  lady  smiles  from  her  casement ; 
She  plucks  a  flow1  r  and  stands, 
Holding  it  close  to  her  bosom 
In  two  white  tremulous  hands  : 
The  songs  I  sing  leap  high  and  higher, 
Pleading  like  hungry  flames  of  fire. 

My  lady  leans  from  her  casement  ; 
The  flow' r  has  fell  her  kiss  ; 
Body  and  soul  I  kneel  to  meet  it, 


RISIFFS  DAUGHTER.  41 

The  moment  heaves  with  bliss, 

When  lo  !  she  speaks,  and  "  Love,  to  thee," 

She  whispers,  "far  away  on  sea, 

This  kiss,  and  this,  and  this" 

GIOVANNI. 

Brother,  your  mood  is  merry. 

CAMILLO. 

Sooth,  why  not  ? 

Does  not  the  sun  shine  ?     Do  I  not  fare  well  ? 
And  have  not  all  the  prettiest  girls  in  Florence 
Smiled  on  me  from  their  casements  ?     Tut,  Gio 
vanni, 

Like  our  famed  grandsire,  you  are  too  ambitious, 
Your  spirit  is  too  broad.     The  hungry  sea 
Hath  need  of  all  the  stars  to  make  it  bright, — 
A  stream  's  content  with  one. 

GIOVANNI. 

Ambitious  ?     I  ? 

Well,  yes,  I  am  ambitious  ;  should  I  be 
A  true  Osaldi  else  ?    The  pow'r  that  shone 
From  Ugo's  martial  front  and  made  our  name 
A  trump  to  call  all  Tuscany  to  battle, 
Is  not  so  dead  that  you  or  I  can  stand 
Upon  the  verge  of  war  and  not  feel  start 
The  fine  responsive  blood.     I  would  behold 
Our  father  smile  again,  and  see  thee  sit 
High  as  our  rank  demands. 

CAMILLO,  bitterly. 

Our  rank  ! 


42  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GIOVANNI. 

How  now  ! 

You  sigh,  Camillo,  you  upon  whose  youth 
The  sun  has  shone  and  pretty  maidens  smiled. 

CAMILLO. 

Sigh  ?     Nay,  not  so,  or  if  by  chance  I  did, 
'T  was  as  the  breezes  sigh  amid  the  blooms 
Of  honeyed  forests.     Joy  weighs  hard  as  pain 
And  oft-times  owns  a  kindred  language. 

GIOVANNI. 

True  ; 

Yet  now  you  sigh  again,  and  if  my  ear 
Translates  the  tone  aright,  not  joy  but  grief 
Speaks  to  the  heart  in  that  uneasy  echo. 
If  sorrow's  tooth  has  touched  your  gaysome  youth, 
It  fits  my  love  to  know  it.     Speak  and  learn 
How  light  a  grief  can  grow  when  shared  by  friend 
ship. 

CAMILLO. 

It  is  not  much  ;  at  least  to  your  discretion 

'T  will  not  seem  much.     I  love  and  love  in  vain. 

'T  is  a  boy's  grief,  why  note  it  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Love  ?      You  love  ? 

CAMILLO. 

Ay,  but  I  said 't  was  nought ;  spare  me  your  mocks  ; 
I  know  't  is  folly,  yet  man  lives  by  love, 
And  folly  makes  the  paradise  of  youth. 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  43 

GIOVANNI. 

I  mock  ?     And  whom — But  no  ;  to  ask  thee  that 
Were  to  intrude  within  the  sacred  spot 
Which  each  man  holds  most  chary  from  his  fellows — 
The  sacred  human  heart :  I  ask  not  that  ; 
But  why  in  vain,  Camillo,  why  in  vain  ? 
Beauty  like  yours  would  start  a  tender  thought 
Within  a  breast  of  stone  ;  why  then  in  vain  ? 
Are  maidens'  hearts  so  very  hard  to  win  ? 

CAMILLO. 

That  I  know  not,  Giovanni  ;  I  but  know 
This  maid's  was  not  if  that  the  merriest  eye 
Which  e'er  smiled  mercy  to  a  suppliant 
Spake  truth  in  its  soft  language.     But,  alas  ! 
In  this  hard  world  of  place  and  circumstance 
Fate  rears  up  other  barriers  to  delight 
Than  that  of  love  repelled.     I  am  no  mate 
For  this  sweet  damsel,  or  by  thy  proud  code 
She  is  no  mate  for  me.     By  rank  a  prince, 
I  may  not  wed 

GIOVANNI. 

Well,  well  ? 

CAMILLO. 

A  tradesman's  daughter. 
Ah,  I  wot  well  you  'd  start. 

GIOVANNI. 

If  I  did  start 
It  was  with  wonder  at  the  impish  tricks 


44  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

With  which    fate  mocks  us  men.     A  tradesman's 

daughter  ! 

And  you  can  love  her  and  esteem  yourself 
Rich  if  she  smiles,  and  blest  if  you  but  wear 
Her  beauty  like  a  jewel  on  your  heart. 
Well,  well,  this  barrier  to  your  rightful  joy 
May  prove  less  lofty  than  your  fears  imagine. 
Hast  told  our  father  ? 

CAMILLO. 

'T  were  an  effort  lost ; 
I  know  his  mind  too  well. 

GIOVANNI. 
Yet  had'st  thou  told  him 


CAMILLO. 

And  heard  my  darling  scorned  ?     Nay,  nay  ;  my 

heart 

Is  large  enough  for  anguish,  but  too  small 
To  hug  a  shame  within  it. 

GIOVANNI. 

Humph  !  and  yet 
You  dearly  love  her. 

CAMILLO. 

Love  her  ?     Hear  the  whole. 
It  was  a  day  in  June,  and  I  who  prize 
The  song  of  birds  and  all  those  shy  delights 
That  hide  within  the  forest's  bosky  glens, 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  45 

Above  the  earthlier  charms  of  street  and  mart, 
Was  wandering  in  the  vales  without  the  town, 
When  suddenly  from  out  their  ambient  shade 
A  creature  stepped  of  such  entrancing  mien, 
I  felt  I  ne'er  in  all  my  life  before 
Had  looked  on  mortal  beauty.     Young  she  was, 
And  innocent  as  holy  temples  are 
Whose  atmosphere  is  worship.     Straight  to  knee 
I  sank  all  trembling,  soul  and  body  both 
Acknowledging  unwittingly  their  mistress  ; 
But  of  what  followed  it  were  hard  to  tell, 
Since  lapsed  in  joy,  I  scarce  remember  more 
Than  that  I  heard  her  voice  and  felt  the  clasp 
Of  her  shy  hand  as  from  the  wood's  recess 
I  led  her  to  her  fellows.     Earth  and  air 
Had  felt  the  touch  of  heav'n,  and  in  the  shock 
My  dazzled  spirit  reeled.     Nor  of  that  hour 
When  pricked  to  action  by  my  love  and  longing 
I  sought  those  woods  again,  and  roaming,  came 
Upon  her  musing  by  the  streamlet's  bank, 
A  smile  like  heav'n  upon  her  innocent  mouth, 
And  in  her  eyes  that  look  which  lifts  the  spirit 
Up  as  on  wings  of  light,  I  may  not  speak. 
It  is  enough  that  when  with  late  discretion 
I  asked  her  name  I 

GIOVANNI. 
Well? 

CAMILLO. 

Knew  what  despair  was. 


46  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GIOVANNI. 

So,  you  forsook  her  ? 

CAMILLO. 

What  was  left  to  love 
Since  fate  and  duty  to  our  sire  decreed 
I  could  not  be  her  husband  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

This  was  when  ? 

CAMILLO. 

Some  seven  long  weeks  ago.    It  seems  a  lifetime. 

GIOVANNI. 
And  you  remember  ? 

CAMILLO. 

Will  I  e'er  forget  ? 

GIOVANNI,  after  a  pause. 
Brother,  your  case  is  not  so  lost  to  hope 
As  it  would  seem.     I  may  not  tell  you  more, 
But  if  you  '11  meet  me  at  Risifi's  villa 
Upon  the  eve  of  blessed  Agnes  day, 
You  will  yourself 

CAMILLO,  falling  back. 

Risifi  !  then  you  know 

GIOVANNI. 

A  merchant  ?     Yes,  and,  stranger  still,  may  soon, 
Be  pleased  to  know  a  merchant's  lovesome  daughter. 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  47 

CAMILLO. 

What  secret  is  there  here  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Ask  not,  but  trust 

Your  fate  to  Heav'n,  and  meet  me  as  I  've  said. 
Grim  doom  holds  not  such  clutch  upon  our  souls, 
But  sometimes  in  this  harsh,  uneasy  world, 
Our  boldest  wishes  meet  with  strange  fulfilment. 


SCEBTE  IL  —  A  ralf  izitkovt  Florence.     Huntsmais 
kants  keard  in  the 


Enter  GIOYAXXI  and  LEON. 


T  is  my  last  hunt.     Through  all  the  rousing  din 
Of  yon  mad  horns  I  hear  the  sound  of  trumps 
Calling  me  hence  to  battle.     O  the  joy 
Of  freedom  to  the  soul  that  long  hath  lain 
Behind  the  bars  of  straitening  circumstance  ! 
Scarce  can  I  bide  the  hour  of  my  release, 
Mr  heart  calls  so  for  action. 

LEON. 

And  your  bride  ? 
The   fair  young  maiden   that  awaits  your  troth- 

plight, 
Have  you  no  thought  for  her  ! 

GIOVAXXl. 

My  bride  ?     Ah,  Leon, 
My  bride  is  fame.     I  have  no  heart  to  give 
To  fairest  -woman  now.     A  shadow  dwells 
Where  once  such  hopes  had  birth. 
[Exter  at  a  distan£e  GrxzTRA,  followed  by  BIAXCA. 

But  who  is  this  ? 

-- 


RISIFFS  DA  UGHTER. 


I  know  not,  seignior,  ret  her  beauty  shows 

.~phant  in  these  shades.     Methinks  her  glance 
Makes  the  whole  place  to  shine. 

GIOVAJfSl. 

Ah,  heaven  !  yes,  yes. 

Leon,  once  since  her  face  seen  thus  by  chance 
Hath  roused  the  passion  of  my  manhood  up, 

And  filled  my  soul  with  homage.     Hath  stern  fate 
Sent  her  this  way  to  tempt  me  ?     Let  's  away  ! 
I  will  not  meet  her  look,  her  innocent  look, 
So  tender,  yet  so  blithe.     Risifi's  daughter 
Hath  claims  upon  me  now  that  make  such  dreams 
A  sinful  madness. 

uox. 

What !  you  love  this  stranger  ? 

GIOVAXXL 

I  love  my  honor.     Let  us  hence,  good  Leon, 
For  me  the  hunt  is  o'er. 

LEX3X. 

And  this  is  life  ! 
\Exnatt  GIOVAXKI  taut  Lxox. 


I  'm  weary,  my  Bianca,  let  us  resL 


50  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

BIANCA. 

Yes,  lady,  but  not  here. 

GINEVRA. 

And  why  not  here  ? 

BIANCA. 

The  place  is  dark.    I  dread  the  chill  which  breathes 
From  out  these  clustering  boughs. 

GINEVRA. 

I  feel  no  chill. 

I  love  this  heavy  shade,  this  brooding  gloom  ; 
My  thoughts  make  light  enough.     I  scarce  could 

breathe 
For  rising  rapture,  were  there  sunlight  too. 

BIANCA. 

But  lady— 

GINEVRA. 

Nay,  Bianca,  cross  me  not. 
I  see  no  shadows  here.     The  place  to  me 
Is  bright  as  summer  and  as  sweet  as  June. 
Rich-blooded   birds   and   flow'rs    inch-deep    with 

honey 

Hide  in  its  soft  recess  ;  while  to  my  ears 
All  the  wild  passion  of  a  young  joy  pants 
In  the  quick  tremble  of  its  laughing  leaves. 

BIANCA. 
And  you  enjoy  such  music  ? 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  51 

GINEVRA. 

Yes  ;  did'st  doubt  it  ? 

Because  I  pinch  your  ears  and  steal  your  gauds 
And  play  you  tricks  and  laugh  from  morn  till  night, 
Did'st  think  my  spirit  owned  no  deeper  mood  ? 
The  maddest  brook  that  trips  it  through  the  glen 
Has  here  and  there  along  its  joyous  course 
Shy  resting-places  for  its  tired  foot 
And  spots  for  quiet  musing.     This  is  mine  : 
Then  leave  me  to  my  dreams. 

BIANCA. 

The  girl  who  dreams 

In  bow'rs  like  these  where  not  a  sunbeam  dwells, 
Has  sweetest  mem'ries  linked  unto  its  gloom, 
Or  such  bright  hopes  they  strike  a  color  through 
Its  darkest  portals.     Hast  such  mem'ries,  lady  ? 

GINEVRA,  startled. 

I  ?    Yes,  in  sooth,  of  many  a  gaysome  hour 
Spent  at  your  side  with  lute  or  harp  or  book  ; 
What  other  could  I  have  ?    But  how  ?    You  start. 

BIANCA. 
I  thought  I  heard  a  step. 

GINEVRA,  singing. 

You  hear  the  winds  at  antic  play, 
You  hear  the  brooks  sing  roundelay, 
The  flow 'rs  you  hear,  coquetting,  dear, 
But  not 


52  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

Nay,  then  I  '11  quit  my  pranks, 
I  cannot  bide  your  frowns.     You  sigh  for  sunshine. 
Go,  then  ;  I  '11  join  you  soon. 

BIANCA. 

Upon  the  terrace  ? 

GINEVRA. 

Yea,  on  the  terrace. 

BIANCA. 

Good  !     I  will  wait  thee  there. 
Only  as  you  do  love  me,  gentle  lady, 
Linger  not  here  too  long.     Remember,  madam, 
That  your  good  father  hath  some  words  of  import 
To  say  to  thee  to-night. 

GINEVRA. 

I  will  remember. 
Pray  they  be  words  of  joy. 

BIANCA. 

They  are  indeed  ;     [Aside. 

Or  should  be  if  some  wandering  dream  of  love 
Hath  not  made  ruthless  havoc  with  a  soul 
We  thought  as  free  as  air.  [Exit. 

GINEVRA. 

The  good  Bianca  !  as  little  doth  she  reck  that 
happy  accident  hath  already  given  to  my  ears  the 
gist  of  her  most  wonderful  secret,  as  that  this  son 
of  the  Osaldi,  whom  my  father  in  his  wisdom  hath 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  53 

seen  fit  to  accept  for  my  bridegroom,  is  that  stranger 
to  my  eyes  which  they  in  their  most  fortunate  igno 
rance  seem  to  consider  him.  But  fate  is  a  gay 
trickster  and  plays  mad  pranks  with  us  all.  'T  is 
not  the  first  time  the  untoward  lifting  of  a  curtain 
hath  brought  strange  counsels  to  light.  The  young 
Osaldi  !  Well,  well,  he  is  certainly  a  most  exqui 
site  gallant.  His  Good-day,  lady,  and  his  Good- 
even  to  you  are  flavored  with  the  cream  of  per- 
fectest  courtesy.  Then,  for  a  Tuscan,  he  hath  also 
a  certain  comeliness  ;  but  have  I  not  sworn,  in 
good-faith  too,  that  I  would  not  wed  a  Tuscan  were 
he  the  best-made  man  in  Italy  ?  Then  there  is  his 
glance,  which  proclaims  to  my  understanding  that 
he  loves  me — which  same  seems  over-bold.  But, 
then,  his  smile  !  Well,  for  a  smile  it  certainly  does 
credit  to  his  wit  ;  but  I  cannot  live  upon  smiles, 
though  if  I  could,  I  might  consent  to  make  a  trial 
of  his, — and  starve  belike  for  my  pains.  [Muses. 
Enter  CAMILLO. 

CAMILLO,  aside. 

She  's  here,  and  my  heart's  language  hath  not 
deceived  me.  Now  if  it  be  true,  as  my  brother's 
words  seem  to  betoken,  that  love  and  fortune  await 
me  on  St.  Agnes'  Eve  at  the  house  of  her  father,  it 
can  be  no  treason  to  my  future  fate  to  breathe 
forth  one  breath  of  the  passion  that  consumes  me. 
[Aloud}  Lady  ? 

GINEVRA,  aside. 

'T  is  he.  Now  heart  be  still,  and  wit  be  all  alert 
to  hide  my  maiden  shame. 


54  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

CAMILLO,  aside. 

She  does  not  hear  me  ;  or  can  it  be  that  the 
mockery  of  her  spirit  hath  obtained  mastery  over 
her  tenderness  ?  I  must  determine.  \_Advances. 
Fair  lady,  greeting  !  A  kiss  for  your  sweet  thoughts. 

GINEVRA. 

A  kiss,  Seignior  Camillo  ?  That  were  a  poor  ex 
change  for  thoughts  like  mine  ;  so  if  it  please  you 
I  will  keep  my  thoughts  and  you  your  kiss  ;  and 
lest  it  should  seem  ungracious  in  me  to  give  noth 
ing  upon  your  asking,  I  will  bestow  upon  you  my 
most  choice  Good-day,  and  so  leave  you  to  your 
meditations.  [Is  about  to  withdraw. 

CAMILLO. 

You  have  the  true  generosity,  lady  ;  you  give 
away  what  it  costs  you  the  most  to  part  from. 
Nay,  rumple  not  your  lip  ;  it  is  the  truth,  for  all 
your  pretty  poutings.  Convince  me  it  is  not. 

GINEVRA. 

Your  pardon  ;  but  that  would  take  words,  and 
words  would  take  time,  and  time  given  to  one  of 
your  persuasion  would  refute  all  my  arguments  on 
the  face  of  them. 

CAMILLO. 

Well,  lady,  since  it  is  your  pleasure  to  be  con 
sistent  rather  than  happy,  adieu.  Had  you  stayed 
but  so  long  as  the  bee  pauses  on  an  oleander  blos 
som,  you  had  heard 


JtlSIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  55 

GINEVRA. 


Buzzing,  seignior  ? 


CAMILLO. 


Yes,  if  by  that  word  you  would  denominate  vows 
of  constancy  and  devotion.  For  I  do  greatly  love 
you  and  would  tell  you  so. 

GINEVRA. 

And  for  that  you  expect  me  to  linger  !  as  though 
vows  were  new  to  my  ears  and  words  of  love  as 
strange  to  my  understanding  as  tropical  birds  to 
the  eyes  of  a  Norseman. 

CAMILLO. 
If  you  do  love  me  you  will  linger. 

GINEVRA. 

Yet  if  I  do,  be  sure  it  is  from  some  other  motive 
than  love. 

CAMILLO. 

So  it  be  not  from  hate,  I  am  contented. 

GINEVRA. 

To  be  contented  with  little  proves  you  to  be  a 
man  of  much  virtue. 

CAMILLO. 
When  I  have  you,  I  am  content  with  much. 


? 


,  v  v,  _.  _-  _     -    ..  - . 


- 

Hark! 


TJslat  the  mmt     It  L~ 

to  kor  A  prettr  naaa  so  •MSB 


"    -  T     ".""-" 


'    - 


...... 


a.  nri!  so 


:   V 


z    •  • 


r  lat 


XISIFl'S  DADGHTEJL  57 


:OB  nde,  boi  if  i»  yow  contesy  yom 

'.'.~..''.'     '•  \'.     ~."-.-.  '.'.'.-.'  "-'.  . . "    ~.--'-'-"    "• 
voald  store  to  bear  k.    Yo«  are 


CAIOULO. 


Xo,  lacj ;  bat  vfcat  goes  to  make  odaer  sen's 
faces  fair,  goes  to  make  my  matt  great.    The 

-.:•---_-       :          -  •          •  -  _   :       - 
:    - 


Faith,   JOB  are  not  akwe  xa  t^at.     T  »  dbe 

If-          .:   ::  .: 


Bvf  I  vin  alvars  loie  yo«,  CT'B  to 

COGBVKA. 

I«  -     •«-  -    1*    —  .-.j- .f  ,  -A     _ -^^i»  X>A«^ 


Woukfst  hare  H  co»c  here  a»d 
ke  true  to  m  j  vtvd  ? 


* " 


Have  JOB  tried  them,  srigBior,  that  JOB  speak  so 

IV. 

.  -:-. 


;          ;  -_  -_ 
- 


LI  :  N 

not  rest  ntfl  I  leara  die  name  and  qnality 

::  i^r  :i.r  zi^.i  ~^:~  _^v  _:n  ^^5  f:  .:__  .:  ri 
to  IBS  vadoing.  [Sea  CAMTLXO  a*/  GDTETXJL.] 
Ak,  wnom  hare  we  here?  The  lady  by  my  life, 
hand  vidt  a  gallant.  AJi,  my  Gio- 
i  was  it  tkat  yon  kislrard  hence  before 
:zi.r  i:  :  _i._tti  "~ ;  _  ...:::  :.-. t 


::   . :  ~  T  ?     r     tt:    ._^_t.    _  .";r  ~-L..:,i"      2  _:      .: 

;?    I  mast  see  his  face.     Good  hearen  !  it 
!     I  smefl  trovble  here. 


r:    ;:    :—  y:_:--  r 


ji.r  :ri-:y  :~ 


As  .HSIC  completes  paiadise,  h 


That  she  is  doubly  lost  him.    Wefl,  wrfl,  wrfl ! 
The  fair  Ginerra's  Hrafnrr  avast  heal  dte ' 


RISIFTS  DA  UGHTE*.  :  , 

17.  :  .-- 

V:  -:  :•--•  :r    _ii:- 

B1AKCA. 

Seignior,  and  yours.     I  seek  my  ji«"***Hfi  Bnstiess, 
The  fair  Ginerra,  irhom  I  left  bnt  aov 
Amid  these  shadows. 

IXOJf. 

Hov  ?    Wkat  uamc  say  yon  ? 

B1A5TCA. 

Gmerra,  sdgmor. 

UDBL 
Not 


The  SSTTTH*,  fafr 

II 

-  T-  : .     :  "_rs-r_ 

What?  wnat? 

UBHL 

^f^yyf  know  Aic  lady  K  to  ired 


The  Coont  Gioraaai  ere 
Passes  o'er  Florence  ? 


Tea,  I  kHNr  it ; 
Her  sire  told  me  this   •OKB.      Bat  she    knows 

nought- 
Went  she  this 


60  JtlSIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

LEON. 

Yea,  and  her  lover  with  her. 

BIANCA. 

Her  lover  ?     Oh  !  {Is  about  to  rush  away. 

LEON,  detaining  her. 

Lady,  a  word  I  pray  you. 

Art  sure  she  knew  nought  of  her  coming  marriage 
When  she  strayed  hence  ? 

BIANCA. 

Most  sure.     Her  father  waits 
Ev'n  now  to  tell  her.     O  may  Heav'n  decree 
That  tricksy  Love  lie  close  to-day  and  play 
No  idle  pranks  with  that  gay  heart  of  hers 
Before  the  hour  be  come.     A  lover,  say  you  ? 
O  I  have  stayed  too  long.  {Exit. 

LEON. 

Run,  run  !  thy  feet 
Will  ne'er  outspeed  the  winged  boy  you  fear  ! 

{Re-enter  CAMILLO. 

Ah,  but  this  youth  must  know  he  wrongs  his  brother 
In  worshipping  at  this  merry  maiden's  shrine. 
How  speeds  the  day,  Camillo  ?  {Advances. 

CAMILLO. 

Gayly,  Leon. 

Joys  that  have  quivered  in  the  scale  till  now, 
Have  over-balanced  grief.     I  am  a  man 
Crowned  for  all  time.     The  maid  I  love,  loves  me. 
Wot  you  of  greater  rapture  ? 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  6 1 

LEON. 

Hush,  O  hush  ! 

Such  words  will  sting  you  when  you  hear  to  whom 
This  maiden's  faith  belongs.     She  is  not  yours 
Howe'er  you  love,  or  howsoe'er  may  she  ; 
The  husband  destined  for  her  by  her  sire 
Is  not  yourself,  but 

CAMILLO. 

Hold  !  not  mine,  this  maiden  ? 
O  Leon,  have  you  weighed  the  words  of  doom 
You  toss  so  lightly  towards  me  ? 

LEON. 

Fully,  seignior; 

The  fair  Ginevra  is  no  wayside  flow'r 
To  be  plucked  for  the  liking.     Pride  and  power 
Rule  o'er  her  sweetness  and  command  her  grace, 
And  little  as  she  recks  the  fate  that  waits  her, 
All  that  she  hath  of  charm  in  form  and  feature 

Is  promised  hence  and 

[CAMILLO  reels,  LEON  rushes  forward. 

O  my  Camillo, 

Remember  you  're  a  man.     Be  not  o'ercome 
By  youth's  most  common  grief.     The  maid  is  fair, 
But  so  is  Bisto's  daughter,  so  the  heir 
Of  proud  Colonna's  house.     There  still  are  left 
Others  as  choice  as  she. 

CAMILLO. 

Others,  Leon  ? 
Love  sees  not  others,  Love  sees  but  the  one  ; 


62  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

And  when  that  one  is  lost,  proves  false,  or  dies, 
The  charm  of  life,  its  beauty  and  its  worth, 
Fade  with  her  from  the  world. 

LEON. 

Is  love  like  this  ? 

Well  were  it,  then,  you  should  not  seek  to  snatch  it 
From  one  you  hold  so  near  in  your  observance. 

CAMILLO. 

From  one  7  hold  so  near  ?  What  mean  you,  Leon  ? 
O  God,  it  is  not 

LEON. 

Seignior  ! 

CAMILLO. 

Not  Giovanni  ? — 

Your  silence  does  convict  you.     It  is  he, 
My  brother,  my  own  brother. 

LEON. 

But  none  knew 
You  loved  the  maiden. 

CAMILLO. 

O  believe  it  not ! 

Giovanni  knew,  else  why  his  strict  command 
To  meet  him  in  Risifi's  halls  this  eve. 
Giovanni  knew,  and,  filled  with  jealous  pride, 
Bade  Hope  regain  her  seat  within  my  breast 
That  he  might  shame  me  'fore  the  world  and  her. 
O  cruel  spite  of  joy  !     O  selfish  heart ! 


XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  63 

That,  drunk  with  its  own  bliss,  could  rise  and  fling 

Its  triumph  in  my  face  to  make  me  mad. 

But  let  him  look  to  it  :  I  am  no  child  ; 

He  bids  me  to  the  feast, — /  will  be  there.        [Going. 

LEON. 

But  Seignior 

CAMILLO. 

Wait  ;  you  are  my  faithful  friend, 
True  as  my  own  heart's  core.     Let  no  man  know 
I  died  but  now  to  youth,  and  hope,  and  love. 

[Exit. 

LEON. 

He  bears  it  ill.     His  looks  proclaim  his  vengeance. 
Wert  wisdom  to  give  warning  to  Giovanni  ? 
No,  that  were  treason.     But  I  '11  watch  the  lad, 
Follow  his  steps,  and  wait  upon  his  moods, 
And  be  on  hand  to  hinder  any  mischief.         [Exit. 

Re-enter  GINEVRA  and  BIANCA. 

GINEVRA. 

What  words  are  these  ?  You  mock  me,  good  Bianca, 
Or  I  have  heard  amiss. 

BIANCA. 

Not  so,  not  so. 

Your  father  waits  but  now  to  give  you  tidings 
Of  your  betrothal  to  Osaldi's  heir. 
He  whom  you  love  is  not  Osaldi's  heir  ; 
Only  the  heir's  young  brother. 


64  XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GINEVRA. 

And  I  live, 
I  who  should  die  ! 

BIANCA. 

Madam,  be  comforted. 
If  Count  Giovanni  show  a  lesser  grace 
Than  the  young  gallant  who  has  won  your  heart, 
He  still  is  called  a  lordly  gentleman, 
Noble  and  kind.     A  night  of  sober  thought 
Will  blast  this  transient  fancy  in  your  breast 
And  fit  you  for  your  fate. 

GINEVRA. 

Never  !  I  feel  it. 

These  fancies,  as  you  style  them,  my  Bianca, 
That  blossom  to  the  heavens  in  a  moment, 
Strike  root  as  deep  as  is  despair  itself, 
In  such  a  heart  as  mine.     'T  will  take  a  wrench 
Vigorous  as  that  which  twists  the  life-strings  free 
To  tear  it  hence.     No  pow'r  save  that  of  Heav'n 
Can  e'er  undo  what  this  one  hour  has  done, 
Alas,  alas  the  hour  ! 

BIANCA. 

Yet  rest  thee,  lady. 

Who  knows  ;  perchance  thy  father  yet  may  please 
To  grant  thee  thy  desire.     Is  not  Camillo 
Of  blood  as  truly  noble  as  his  brother  ? 
And  is  not  your  most  honorable  father 
Tender  of  her  he  loves  ? 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  6$ 

GINEVRA. 

Ay,  to  a  point, 

But  he  '11  ne'er  brook  a  folly.     To  the  wife 
Of  Count  Giovanni,  heir  to  princely  titles, 
He  'd  give  his  heart  for  food  ;  but  to  the  girl 
Who  dared  to  cross  his  lifetime's  one  ambition, 
He  'd  be  as  cruel  as  the  Roman  lord 
Who  stabbed  his  daughter  to  her  shuddering  heart 
To  save  her  from  dishonor. 

BIANCA. 

Then,  fair  lady, 

Since  this  is  so,  't  were  surely  wisdom's  part 
To  take  the  fate  which  kindly  Heav'n  sends  you, 
Prompt  to  accept  its  good.     Too  often,  madam, 
We  scorn  the  cup  pressed  iron-like  to  our  lips, 
Which,  if  once  tasted,  would  be  found  to  teem 
With  wine  of  heavenliest  vintage. 

GINEVRA. 

Not  this  cup,  Bianca. 

BIANCA. 

You  have  not  tasted  it. 

GINEVRA. 

I  know,  I  know. 

BIANCA. 

Take  courage,  lady  ;  think  that  duty  bears 
Perennial  sweets,  while  joy  blooms  for  a  day. 


66  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GINEVRA. 

I  will,  Bianca.     Upon  Duty,  then, 

I  fix  my  constant  faith  ;  and  since  it  runs 

Counter  to  joy,  why,  farewell  youth's  glad  hopes  ; 

Farewell  the  merry  heart  and  laughing  brow  ; 

I  have  another  business  in  this  world 

Than  to  link  hands  with  Pleasure.  \Exeunt 


ACT  IV. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE —  Vast  hall  in  the  Risifi  villa.     Pages  "within. 
Enter  ANTONIO. 

ANTONIO. 

Are  all  the  candles  lit  ?  Are  the  musicians  ready  ? 
Is  every  thing  in  train  ?  The  curtains — hang  they 
fair  ?  Look  to  them,  you,  and  hark  you,  sirrah,  if 
I  hear  anon  of  so  much  lacking  as  a  single  candle, 
I  will  see  you  all  beat  from  this  hall  to  the  street, 
before  sunrising.  I  would  have  this  day  remem 
bered  here  in  Florence,  and  by  my  steward's  wand 
it  shall  be,  or  let  me  never  feast  another  prince  in 
rich  Risifi's  villa.  [Enter  PAULO. 

So  you  are  come  at  last.     What  say  you,  man, 
Are  all  things  well  disposed  ?  Think  you  these  rooms 
Will  bear  inspection  ?     Is  there  finish  here  ? 
A  prince's  eye  is  critical.     What  say  you,  then  ; 
Look  we  like  lords  or  no  ? 

PAULO. 

Too  much  like  lords 
And  much  too  little  like  the  men  we  are. 
Pah  !  this  display  is  odious. 
69 


/O  XfSfFf'S  DAUGHTER. 


ANTONIO. 


How  ?  how  ?  how  ? 

What  is  amiss  ?     Do  you  not  like  these  hangings  ? 
They  are  the  costliest  to  be  found  in  Florence  ; 
I  hope  they  're  not  amiss. 


PAULO. 


They  are  too  new  ; 
They  smell  too  rank  of  the  loom. 


ANTONIO. 

And  yet  they  're  scented  ; 
I  had  the  choicest  odors  flung  upon  them, 
Where  is  your  nose,  man  ? 

PAULO. 

In  its  place,  Antonio  ; 

Not  flung  half  way  in  air  like  some  I  wot  of. 
If  you  would  save  the  lintels  to  the  doors 
Lower  your  crest  a  space.     A  man  would  think 
The  crowns  of  all  broad  Europe  had  been  piled 
One  on  the  other  o'er  that  brow  of  yours, 
In  toppling  insecurity. 

PAGE. 

Is  your  new  doublet 
Too  narrow  for  your  stomach  that  you  puff  so  ? 

ANTONIO. 

Boy,  to  the  scullions  !     Do  you  criticise 
The  man  who  caters  to  a  noble  prince  ? 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  7 1 

As  for  you,  Paulo,  were  it  not  indeed 

That  you  're  a  poor  lean  man  unworthy  greatness, 

We  'd  measure  swords  for  this. 

PAULO. 

Peace,  peace,  Antonio  ; 
Doublets  of  such  rare  precious  stuff  as  thine 
Are  never  strong. 

ANTONIO. 

How  ?  how  ?  not  strong,  my  doublet  ? 
He  said  my  doublet  ;  here,  you  sirrah,  you, 
Am  I  in  trim  ?    What  folly  't  is  in  man 
To  huff  at  a  fool's  babbling. 

\Page  stumbles  by  with  wine. 
Heav'ns,  what  damage  now  ? 

PAGE. 

Truth,  good  Antonio,  if  I  might  so  speak, 
You  wear  your  feet  too  large. 

ANTONIO. 

My  feet  ?  too  large  ? 
You  say  too  large  ?     What  think  you  now,  young 

sirrah  ? 
Are  they  too  large  for  this  and  this  and  this  ? 

\Kicks  him. 

PAGE. 

O  !  O  !   O  !   O  !   much  too  large :   much,  much, 
much  !  \Exeunt. 


72  RISIFI' S  DAUGHTER. 

Enter  RISIFI,  OSALDI,  GIOVANNI,  URBINO,  ZENO, 
and  LEON. 

OSALDI. 

Seignior  Risifi,  to  my  mind  this  thing 
Shows  but  one  face  and  that  is,  business,  business. 
You  give  us  gold,  we  give  you  rank,  't  is  done, 
The  compact 's  sealed,  and  compliment  is  useless. 

RISIFI. 

My  lord,  I  would  not  weary  you  with  words, 
But  you  mistake  me  here.     Not  as  a  churl, 
But  as  a  host  I  offer  you  my  welcome, 
Which  as  a  guest  you  may  receive,  my  lord, 
And  never  stoop  were  you  the  Duke  himself. 
I  never  vaunt  me  of  my  bargains,  Prince, 
Merchantman  though  I  be.     To  a  Risifi 
Success  is  boast  enough  ;  the  world  is  quick 
To  spy  out  facts  without  a  pointing  finger, 
And  this  thing  is  a  fact.     Albeit  a  trader, 
I  am  as  proud  as  any  peer  in  Florence  ; 
Let  my  lord  rest  content. 

OSALDI. 

Seignior,  your  wisdom 

Puts  my  old  age  to  shame.     Henceforth  behold 
A  prince  of  ancient  lineage  and  fame 
Who  sees  his  son,  the  heir  to  all  his  honors, 
Wed  a  Risifi  and  forbears  to  boast  it. 

RISIFI. 

My  lord  says  well  ;  't  is  not  a  thing  to  boast  of.  . 
Dost  think  to  ruffle  me  ?    Do  you  not  see 


DAUGHTER.  73 

The  more  you  stand  upon  your  rank,  my  lord, 
The  more  I  mount  and  mount  ?     Disdain  my  gold 
And  scoff  at  him  who  sells  his  best  for  it, 
Not  at  the  man  who  gives  what  you  despise, 
To  win  the  thing  you  hold  in  noblest  favor. 

OSALDI. 

Seignior,  as  guest,  I  would  refrain  from  answering 
Wit  so  acute.     Zeno,  your  arm. 

URBINO,  aside  to  RISIFI. 

Good  master, 

Rouse  not  the  old  man's  wrath  too  far,  I  pray, 
Lest  he  should  break  with  you. 

RISIFI,  aside  to  URBINO. 

He  'd  break  his  old  heart 
first. 

ZENO,  aside  to  OSALDI. 

Wake  not  the  slumbering  tiger  in  his  eye ; 
'T  is  much  too  calm  for  safety. 

OSALDI,  aside  to  ZENO. 

Never  fear  it. 

The  man  who  's  touched  the  goal  of  his  desire 
Quits  not  his  hold  so  easy. 

ZENO. 
Prince,  the  lady  ! 

URBINO. 

The  lady,  seigniors ! 
\Enter  GINEVRA,  attended  by  BIANCA  and  other  ladies. 


74  RISIFrS  DAUGHTER. 

GIOVANNI,  falling  back. 
Saints  of  Heav'n  ! 

LEON. 
How  now,  what  moves  you  so  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

'T  is  she,  my  life's  sole  love, 

The  fair  sweet  woman,  who,  though  seen  but  once, 
Has,  like  a  violet  nestling  in  the  shade, 
Bloomed  in  my  constant  memory.     O  boon 
Unhoped,  unlocked  for  !      Gift  of  gracious  Heav'n 
Where  I  expected  nought !     But  thus  it  is  ; 
We  pluck  at  roses  and  encounter  thorns  ; 
Clutch  at  life's  thorns,  and  fill  our  hands  with  roses. 

RISIFI. 

Seignior  Giovanni,  in  this  simple  maid 

You  see  my  hope,  my  joy,  my  wealth,  my  pride  : 

The  one  fair  pearl  dropped  in  my  bosom's  core 

By  the  rude  wave  that  wrecked  her  gentle  mother. 

You  '11  find  her  pure  and,  though  yet  timorous, 

As  duteous  and  as  tender  to  your  suit 

As  fits  her  state  of  youthful  modesty 

And  years  of  unstained  thought.     Daughter,  your 

hand 
Unto  my  lord  ! 

GIOVANNI. 

Madam,  my  service  to  you  ! 
In  saying  more,  methinks  I  should  say  less  ; 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  75 

Before  so  gracious  and  so  rare  a  presence 
Compliment  must  e'er  stand  dumb. 

GINEVRA. 

Seignior,  I  thank  you. 
However  small  of  wit  to  twist  fair  sense 
From  unaccustomed  words,  I  see  in  these 
Your  kindness  and  your  truth. 

GIOVANNI. 

Thy  thanks,  sweet  lady, 
Make  music  in  a  bosom  heretofore 
Unused  to  so  divine  a  melody. 

LEON  to  BIANCA. 

She  is  a  lovesome  creature,  but  her  face 
Hath  hints  of  sorrow  shadowing  its  bloom, 
Strange  to  behold  in  one  so  young  and  blithesome. 

BIANCA. 

Those  who  have  lost  their  mothers  unbetimes, 
Oft  show  these  sad  lines  in  their  faces,  seignior  ; 
'T  is  nature's  mark  that  life's  most  precious  boon 
Hath  somehow  missed  them. 

LEON. 

So,  if  not 

The  sign  of  present  grief,  I  am  content. 
The  count  is  not  a  man  whose  nuptial  cup 
Should  hold  one  drop  of  secret  bitterness. 

BIANCA. 
Is  he  so  kind  ? 


76  XfSIFf'S  DAUGHTER, 

LEON. 

The  prince  of  gentlemen, 
Surpassed  in  mind  by  few,  in  worth  by  none  ; 
In  manner  only  by  the  blither  grace 
Of  his  young  brother.     Were  I  lord  of  realms 
To  which  one  well-beloved  child  were  heir, 
I  'd  ask  of  Heav'n  no  nobler  husband  for  her 
Than  our  Giovanni. 

BIANCA. 

You  speak  strongly ; 
May  her  young  graces  equal  your  desire. 

GIOVANNI    to   GINEVRA. 

Lady,  I  would  not  startle  your  sweet  soul 

Into  a  sudden  passion.     Not  the  wind 

But  the  soft  sunshine  best  constrains  the  bud 

To  ope  its  delicate  leaves.     Of  all  the  words 

Of  gentle  courtesy  and  deep  regard 

With  which  I  come  full  laden  to  your  side, 

I  will  but  proffer  one.     Accept  this,  dear, 

The  choicest  of  my  store,  the  rose  of  speech, 

The  sweet,  I  love  you,  which  has  been  the  gem 

Of  every  language  since  the  first  fond  hour 

That  woman's  smile  became  a  good  man's  heaven. 

GINEVRA. 

I  am  a  plain  man's  daughter  and  scarce  know 
What  words  are  meet  for  him  who  shows  such  grace 
To  one  so  far  unworthy.     But  this  love 
Springing  so  quickly  up  at  duty's  call 


RISIFI' S  DAUGHTER.  77 

GIOVANNI. 

So  quickly  ?    Ah,  't  is  true  you  know  not  yet 
Aught  of  what  gives  to  this  betrothal  hour 
Its  true  significance.     Not  at  duty's  beck, 
But  in  despite  of  duty,  will,  and  time 
Have  I  your  gentle  image  cherished  here 
Within  my  heart  of  hearts.     But,  lady,  hark  ! 
The  sound  of  music  welling  through  the  dance 
Dreams  in  the  air  like  perfume  hanging  rapt 
Above  its  bed  of  bloom.     If  you  will  tread 
The  coming  measure,  I  will  ease  my  soul 
Of  its  one  secret, 

GINEVRA. 

Ah,  and  thou  hast  one. 
\They pass  on.     RISIFI  and  PRINCE  advance. 

RISIFI. 

Look  where  the  count  and  my  young  daughter  go, 
With  heads  bent  low  like  corn  in  harvest  time. 
What  say  you,  Prince,  if  I  read  rightly  there 
This  thing  to  them  is  aught  but  business,  business. 

OSALDI. 

Seignior,  my  son  is  kind.       \Draws  off  with  ZENO. 

Too  kind,  by  Heaven  ! 
I  like  not  yonder  romance  of  soft  looks, 
Low  cooing  murmurs  and  love-sick  devotion, 
It  suits  not  with  our  name.     I  'd  have  him  wed  her, 
But  love  her  !  't  is  plebeian.     Never  yet 
Hath  an  Osaldi  stooped  to  love  a  trades-girl. 


78  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

ZENO. 
Yet  is  she  a  rare  blossom,,  noble  Prince. 

OSALDI. 

Indeed  I  hope  it.     Would  you  have  a  man 
Stoop  to  the  dust  and  not  pick  up  a  jewel  ? 

[They  pass  on.      Enter   numerous  guests,   among 
them  ANTONIO  and  PAULO.] 

ANTONIO. 

It  takes  a  great  heart  to  forgive,  they  say  ; 
And  why  should  I  hang  back  ?     There,  man,  my 
hand. 

PAULO. 

What  means  the  cockatoo  ?     I  came  not  here 

To  prattle  with  a  fool,  but  to  behold 

For  once  a  man  of  mark.     Where  is  the  Prince  ? 

ANTONIO. 

May  Heav'n  ordain  he  's  safer  than  thy  manners, 
Or  he  were  lost  indeed.     Stay,  is  that  he  ? 

PAULO. 

Yon  prancing,  dancing  jack-a-napes  in  yellow  ? 
O  certain  by  the  rood,  the  Prince,  indeed, 
If  not  Risifi's  tapster. 

ANTONIO. 

Now  in  good  sooth 
It  is  Risifi's  tapster.     By  my  soul, 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  79 

But  you  have  eyes,  my  Paulo  ; — not  that  mine 
Are  not  right  serviceable  and  trusty  servants  • 
Look  at  them  else. 

PAGE. 

I  know  he  has  good  eyes,  for  he  has  kicked  me 
And  never  missed  the  spot. 

CONRADO,  pointing  out  CLAUDO. 

Stay,  here  's  the  Prince  ! 

ANTONIO,  advancing. 
Good   Prince,    most    noble,    great,    and   generous 

Prince, 
Your  servant,  Prince  ! 

CLAUDO. 
Who  is  this  fool  ? 

ANTONIO. 

Fool  ?  fool  ? 

PAULO. 

Easy,  Antonio,  this  is  Seignior  Claudo, 
The  city  goldsmith. 

ANTONIO. 

Then  the  word  is  pat. 
He  a  prince,  he  !     A  simple  scullion  boy 
Might  have  known  better  had  he  seen  thy  face, 
Good  master  Claudo. 

PAULO. 
Hush  !  the  Prince  indeed. 

\Points  out  BEPPO. 


80  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

ANTONIO. 

What !  yon  poor  rail  without  a  gewgaw  on  him  ? 
Yon  peaked,  plain,  scrimped  man  in  leaden  hose  ? 
If  I  were  born  so  small  I  'd  hang  myself 
But  I  would  get  more  flesh. 

[Advances  to  BEPPO,  saluting  him  profoundly. 

My  gracious  Prince  ! 
Your  servant,  Prince.     Doth  my  lord  Prince  need 

aught  ? 
Are  all  his  wants  considered  and  supplied  ? 

BEPPO,  lending  himself  to  the  joke. 

How  !  is  this  Antonio,  my  good  Antonio, 
Chief  caterer  of  Florence  and  the  rightful  lord 
Of  this  rare  feast  ? 

ANTONIO,  bowing  still  deeper. 

My  lord,  you  do  me  honor. 
[Aside.]     Where  are  yon  rascals  ?     They  are  ever 

off 
When  a  man  gets  his  due.     [Aloud]  My  lord,  your 

will  ? 
I  hope  my  lord  is  satisfied  with  all  ? 

BEPPO. 

Um  !  so,  so.     You  have  done  fairly  if  so  be 
The  wine  is  somewhat  sour. 

ANTONIO. 

The  wine — sour  ?  sour  ? 


XTSIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  8 1 

You  surely  jest,  my  lord.      The  wine  ?     How  now, 
What  mean  you,  sirrahs,  hanging  'bout  me  thus  ? 
Off  to  your  duties,  off  ! 

BEPPO. 

The  fruits  are  good, 
Though  something  scarce. 

ANTONIO. 

Good  heavens  ! 

[  To  PAULO  and  the  others. 
What  ?  about  me  still  ? 

Have  you  nought  else  to  do  but  eye  my  lord  ? 
Away  !  the  noble  Prince  and  I  would  converse. 

BEPPO. 

These  hangings,  as  I  take  it,  were  put  up 
Not  at  thy  own  suggestion.     They  're  too  gay 
For  taste  refined  as  thine. 

ANTONIO. 

True,  but  Risifi 

Is  sovereign  here.     He  would  have  yellow,  Prince. 
Will  you  walk  "on  ? 

PAULO. 
Nay,  haste  him  not,  Antonio. 

ANTONIO. 

How,  Paulo,  lingering  still  ?     Come,  I  excuse  thee. 
This  fellow's  service,  Prince,  is  so  devoted  ; 


82  KfSIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

Come,  come,  I  have  said  go.  [BEPPO  laughs. 

Whose  laugh  is  that  ? 
Is  Beppo  here  ? 

PAGE. 

I  do  not  see  him,  seignior. 
ANTONIO. 

That  was  his  laugh.      My  gracious  Prince,  your 

pardon, 
But  you  were  saying 

BEPPO,  laughing  again. 

Man,  don't  you  know  me  ? 
ANTONIO. 

Know  you  ?     Now  by  my  dudgeon  if  I  live 
To  doff  this  doublet  I  will  deal  you,  sirrah 

PAULO. 

Come,  come,  the  Prince  !  the  Prince  ! 
ANTONIO. 

Prince  me  no  more  ; 
I  've  had  enough  of  princes. 

[Exeunt.     Enter  GIOVANNI  and  GINEVRA. 

GINEVRA. 
And  you  remember  still  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Ay,  lady,  still. 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  83 

GINEVRA. 

A  face  just  lifted  from  the  circling  crowd 

And  straightway  lost  again  like  some  white  wave 

Swallowed  by  sister  billows  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Even  so, 
GINEVRA,  with  agitation. 

And  love  me  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Love  you  ?     O  that  words,  weak  words, 
Mere  bubbles  of  the  breath  tossed  out  to  die 
On  every  wayward  breeze  that  frets  the  air, 
Are  all  I  have  to  tell  you,  dear,  how  much. 
Love  you  ?     My  whole  soul  floats  upon  your  smile 
As  on  a  restless  sea.     I  cannot  breathe 
My  natural  breath  in  your  sweet  atmosphere 
But  it  does  seem  to  catch  a  fairy  fragrance. 
Love  you  ?     My  wild  heart  leaps  unto  my  lips  ; 
I  love  you  so  I  scarce  can  say  I  love  you. 

GINEVRA,  shrinking. 
O  God  !  and  I 

GIOVANNI. 

And  you  ? 

GINEVRA,  advancing  to  the  casement. 

Seignior,  look  forth  ! 
Dost  see  yon  orb  of  light  that  girt  with  power 


84  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

Rides  the  still  spaces  of  the  firmament, 
Queen-like  within  her  golden  chariot  ? 
One  might  in  honor  worship  such  a  star 
Shining  supreme  upon  the  front  of  night, 
Nor  bate  him  much  from  that  high  majesty 
Of  self-respect  that  makes  a  man  a  man. 
But  what  of  its  reflection  in  the  stream, 
That  puny  brilliance  which  with  borrowed  gleam 
Stares  upward  from  the  hollow  of  the  wave 
Soulless  and  unsubstantial  ?     Lives  there  one 
On  all  this  round  of  earth  could  stoop  so  low 
As  to  do  homage  there  ?    Yet,  gentle  seignior, 
The  ideal  you  have  loved  is  such  a  star, 
I  but  the  weak  reflection. 

GIOVANNI. 

Say  you  so  ? 
Then  are  you  heaven's  high  orb  made   low   anc 

sweet 

For  earthly  service  and  companionship, 
And  I  the  wave  which  holds  your  beauty  shrined 
Deep  in  its  cradling  bosom.     Ah,  Ginevra, 
Too  young  to  know  that  love  asks  small  excuse 
Of  worthiness  for  loving,  let  your  smile 
But  cross  betimes  my  stern  and  iron  path, 
And  I  will  ask  no  other  light  on  earth 
To  guide  my  steps  aright.     For  where  love  shines 
Ambition  owns  no  pitfalls,  fame  no  sting, 
Nor  is  it  in  hard  disappointment's  power 
To  quite  undo  us. 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  85 

GINEVRA. 

Ah,  it  is  too  much  ! 
You  love  me  far  too  well. 

GIOVANNI. 

Ay,  were  my  days 

Hung  upon  sport  and  dalliance  ;  but  with  war 
Sounding  his  eager  clarion  in  my  ear, 
His  sword  within  my  hand,  and  on  my  brow 
The  shadow  of  the  great  to  do  and  be 
Which  runs  before  high  fame,  't  is  saving  grace 
To  dote  so  well  and  fondly.     O  sweet  angel ! 
Beacon  of  light  to  my  long-harassed  soul, 
What  boon  hath  potent  Fortune  fair  enough 
To  win  thee  from  me.     When  a  dying  wretch 
Will  yield  the  cup  that  bubbles  to  his  lip 
After  long  thirst  and  anguish,  then  will  I 
Yield  thee  and  perish.    But  you  tremble,  sweet  one, 
The  envious  night  wind  wooing  your  fair  cheek 
Hath  chilled  your  gentle  blood.     Let  us  pass  on. 

GINEVRA. 

No,  no,  't  is  nought.     I [aside]  O  to  hear  such 

words, 

And  feel  them  strike  my  breast  like  blunted  arrows. 

\_They pass  on. 
Enter  LEON  and  BIANCA. 

LEON. 

He  's  here.     But  this  same  moment  I  perceived 
His  form  glide  through  the  porch.     If  as  I  fear 


86  KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

He  comes  to  mar  the  feast  with  jealous  rage, 

'T  were  fit  some  warning  of  the  same  were  given 

Unto  my  noble  lord.     Where  is  he,  lady  ? 

BIANCA. 

Yonder,  with  his  betrothed.     Ah,  Seignior  Leon, 
I  fear  your  words'  effect.     He  loves  her  truly, 
And  she — she  might  have  peace  had  this  young 

gallant 
Kept  himself  hence  awhile. 

LEON. 

That  were  to  find 

Judgment  in  youth  and  manhood's  sternest  virtue 
Ruling  th'  unchastened  spirit  of  a  boy. 
But  to  my  task.     Pray  heav'n  I  quit  me  of  it 
With  wisdom  and  discretion.  [Exit. 

BIANCA. 

I  will  follow ; 
Perchance  my  woman's  wit  may  help  the  cause. 

[Exit. 
Enter  GIOVANNI  and  LEON. 

GIOVANNI. 
You  think  I  am  too  happy  ? 

LEON. 

Nay,  my  lord, 

I  think  the  maid  too  fair.     A  love  that  hath 
No  surer  basis  than  a  winsome  face 
Crumbles  too  oft  to  ruin. 


XIS/FI'S  DAUGHTER.  8? 

GIOVANNI. 

So  't  is  said  ; 
But,  Leon,  hast  thou  loved  ? 

LEON. 

Not  yet,  my  lord. 

GIOVANNI. 

Then  listen.     They  who  see  her  call  her  fair  ; 
Say  her  smile  pleases  ;  that  her  voice  is  soft ; 
Her  cheek  the  home  of  blushes,  light,  and  joy  ; 
Her  glance  a  shifting  glory  ;  and  her  brow 
The  throne  of  beauty  and  the  seat  of  truth. 
But  as  for  me,  I  can  see  nought  of  this. 
I  do  not  know  if  she  be  fair  or  not. 
A  blind  man  just  restored  to  light,  I  ween, 
Would  scarcely  stop  in  looking  at  a  rose 
To  say  that  it  was  beautiful.     I  only  know 
Her  glance  is  revelation,  and  her  smile 
A  torturing  delight.     Her  slightest  move 
Wakes  rapture  in  me.     When  I  look  at  her 
I  feel  in  that  one  instant  all  the  reach 
The  human  soul  can  scale  in  depth  and  height, 
In  ecstasy  and  pain  ;  so  much  I  love  her. 

LEON. 
Love  ?  love  ?  my  lord  has  love  ?  he  's  sure  of  it  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Sure  of  my  love  ? 


88  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

LEON. 

Sure  of  the  lady,  seignior  ; 
Women  are  so  oft  given  to  fickleness. 

GIOVANNI. 

Leon,  dost  see  this  sword  ?     It  was  my  grandsire's, 

And  on  its  very  blade  grim  Honor  sits 

As  on  a  throne.     I  'd  rather  wipe 

Its  score  of  deeds  and  old-time  memories 

Off  in  the  base  blood  of  a  whining  cur, 

Than  soil  my  lips  with  bandying  doubts  of  her 

Whom,  loving,  I  would  wed. 

LEON. 

My  love  for  you 
Led  me  too  far,  my  lord.     I  meant  no  evii. 

GIOVANNI. 

There,  I  believe  it ;  speak  of  it  no  more  ; 
You  are  my  very  friend  ;  yet  hark  you,  Leon, 
'T  is  easier  for  a  man  to  bear  all  shame, 
Anguish  and  wrong,  than  listen  to  a  doubt 
Urged  'gainst  a  well-beloved  woman's  honor. 
Yet  are  you  my  own  Leon.     Friend,  your  brow 
Shows  signs  of  watching.     Had  you  dreams   last 
night  ? 

LEON. 

Yes,  I  had  dreams,  but  ask  not  what  they  were 
Lest  they  should  anger  you.     They  were  of  her. 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  89 

GIOVANNI. 

Of  her — Ginevra  ?    You  did  dream  of  her 
And  never  tell  me,  Leon  ? 

LEON. 

Good  my  lord ; 
It  was  of  this  I  would  have  spoke  when  you 


GIOVANNI. 

No  more.      Tell  me   your   dream.     What  was  it, 
T.pon  ? 


Leon  ? 

LEON. 

My  lord,  I  dreamed  I  saw  her  at  the  altar, 
A  glorious,  smiling  bride. 

GIOVANNI. 
Yes,  yes. 

LEON. 

I  dreamed 

She  was  so  beauteous  that  I  stood  and  gazed 
Long  on  her  speaking  face,  unknowing  why 
My  heart  refused  its  joy,  until  I  turned 
My  eyes  in  following  hers  upon  her  bridegroom, 
And  saw — well,  well,  ask  me  not  whom  I  saw — 
It  was  not  thou.     O  gentle  seignior,  pardon. 

GIOVANNI. 

Pardon  for  what  ?     For  an  unhallowed  dream, 
Born  of  your  restless  fear  ?    Good  Leon,  listen. 


90  XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

It  is  the  fashion  of  our  gallants  here 
To  harp  on  woman's  frailty  and  fondness  ; 
Until,  to  hear  them  talk,  one  scarce  would  think 
God  had  reserved  himself  a  single  jewel 
In  his  vast  treasure-house  of  womankind, 
Untarnished  and  unflawed.     This  fashion,  Leon, 
Hath  evil  in  it  past  the  ill  it  does 
To  those  we  most  should  honor,  for  it  leaves 
A  dark  spot  in  the  mind  where  doubt,  once  gen 
dered, 

Wallows  for  evermore.     I  '11  none  of  it ; 
And,  therefore,  though  you  dream  me  dreams  of 

hell, 

I  '11  hold  unto  my  faith  in  womankind 
As  I  hold  on  to  God.     The  pure  in  heart 
Have  right  to  trust  in  others'  purity. 

LEON,  aside. 

Ay,  ay,  't  is  so.     What  man  will  dare  to  tell  him 
That  he  who  leans  on  fair  Ginevra's  faith 
Leans  to  his  fall.     Seignior,  I  say  no  more. 
Before  such  trust  Suspicion  hides  her  face, 
Abashed  at  her  own  daring.  [Going. 

[Enter  BIANCA. 
Ah,  Bianca, 

My   words   have    failed,    may   yours   have   better 
fortune.  [Exit. 

BIANCA,  aside. 
My  words  are  tears  ;  what  else  befits  the  hour  ? 


XfSZFZ'S  DAUGHTER.  gi 

GIOVANNI,  thoughtfully  drawing  his  sword. 

I  said  it  was  my  grandsire's  ;  I  said  well  ; 
I  saw  his  cheek  flush  and  the  quick  thrill  run 
The  length  of  his  man's  frame — such  virtue  dwells 
On  the  high  front  of  fame  to  startle  men. 
Ah,  noble  sword,  what  fortune  lies  before  thee 
In  my  untutored  hands  !  Will  high  Renown 
Leap  with  thy  flash  as  in  the  days  of  yore  ? 
And  proud-eyed  Victory  run  to  kiss  thy  edge 
Before  the  day  be  done  ?    We  may  not  know  ; 
We  can  but  hope  and  trust.  [Sees  BIANCA. 

Ah,  gracious  lady, 

Your  pardon  for  my  daring  !  Naked  steel 
Hath  little  business  here. 

BIANCA. 

True,  true,  then  sheath  it — 
Nay,  seal  it  to  thy  scabbard.     Wrong  and  loss 
Are  not  to  be  thus  met. 

GIOVANNI. 

Wrong  and  loss  ? 

Enter  at  the  back  CAMILLO  and  GINEVRA  in  tender 
converse. 

BIANCA. 

Ay,  ay,  look  there,  but  do  not  draw  your  sword ; 
Let  Heav'n  avenge  thee  here.  [Exit. 


92  KISIFI'S  DA  UGHTER. 

GIOVANNI. 

What  do  I  see  ? 
My    brother — my   betrothed  —  hand    clasped    in 

hand — 

Face  turned  to  face — his  full  of  grief  and  worship, 
While  hers — [staggering  back]  O  heav'n  !  what  is  this 

doom  I  see 

Shadowing  upon  me  from  the  seat  of  bliss 
I  reckoned  all  my  own  ! 

GINEVRA  to  CAMILLO. 

No  more.     Since  Fate 

Has  pledged  me  to  your  brother,  speech  twixt  us 
Is  well-nigh  treason. 

CAMILLO. 

Yet  such  speech  must  be. 
I  am  no  boy  to  yield  my  treasure  up 
Without  an  effort  to  arrest  the  hand 
That  seeks  to  rob  me.     If  Giovanni  knew — 

GIOVANNI,  coming  forward. 

If?  Does  he  not  ?     Can  one  stand  witness  here 
And  not  know  ? 

GINEVRA. 

Count  Giovanni  ! 

[  Turns  to  fly. 

GIOVANNI. 

Stay  !  a  word 
To  make  all  sure.     Brother,  is  this  fair  woman, 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  93 

Whom  but  a  moment  since  I  thought  my  own, 
She  whom  you  told  me  of  a  week  agone  ? 

CAMILLO. 
The  same,  alas  ! 

GIOVANNI. 

Not  some  fair  semblance  simply, 
Like  her  in  feature,  form,  or  circumstance, 
But  she,  herself,  the  rich  Risifi's  daughter  ? 

CAMILLO. 
Ay,  brother,  she  herself. 

GIOVANNI. 

Oh  !  they  spake  well 
Who  said  the  brightest    morns  brought   heaviest 

days. 

[  Turning  towards  her  but  not  looking  at  her. 
Lady,  you  know  this  boy  ;  have  seen  him  oft, 
And  mind  his  features  well.     Is  it,  then,  he 
Who  holds  the  star,  while  I  the  weak  reflection  ? 
If  not,  speak,  speak,  and  I  will  risk  my  all 
To  make  you  mine  indeed.  \A  paused}    Ye  powers 

that  wait 

On  mortal  souls,  gird  up  my  heart  to  bear 
This  heavy  silence  !     [Another  pause. ~\    What,  quite 

still  ?  No  word, 

No  whisper  light  as  air  or  dying  breath, 
To  bid  Giovanni  hope  ?  Ah,  well  ;  thus  sinks 
The  ship  full  freighted  in  the  hollow  sea, 
Leaving  no  sign  behind  ! 


94  XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

CAMILLO. 

Brother  ? 

GINEVRA. 

Giovanni  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Lady,  I  ne'er  have  been  a  happy  man. 
Gaunt  care  and  circumstance  have  warped  my  life 
In  youth's  first  prime.     If  with  the  sight  of  thee 
Some  wandering  beam  of    hope  found    passage 

through 

Life's  darkness  to  my  heart,  't  was  God's  good  gift 
Whose  loss  I  '11  not  bemoan.     If  ye  two  love 
Ye  shall  be  happy.     It  is  not  for  me, 
A  man  past  youth's  first  flush,  to  coldly  stand 
A  shadow  on  the  threshold  of  your  joy. 

CAMILLO. 
And  thou  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

And  I  ?  [A  pause. 

When  in  the  heat  of  sounding  battle-fields 
A  soldier  stands,  black  danger  in  his  path, 
And  in  his  hand  the  sword  to  make  that  danger 
Shrink  at  his  feet  appalled,  one  does  not  ask 
If  joy  or  sorrow  nerves  the  arm  that  wrests 
Proud  victory  from  the  foe.     It  is  enough 
The  heart  is  steady  and  the  arm  is  steel ; 
High  fame  inquires  no  more.     O  thou  great  Power 
That  broods  above  the  smoky  ranks  of  war, 


RISIFI 'S  DAUGHTER.  95 

To  thee  henceforth  I  dedicate  my  soul ! 

In  thy  huge  volleyings  hear  the  voice  of  love, 

And  from  the  blaze  of  thy  high  beacon  fires 

Snatch,  like  Prometheus,  the  living  flame 

To  feed  my  soul  anew.     While  Honor  calls, 

Despair  cries  out  in  vain.  [Rushes  forth. 

[Enter   RISIFI,    meeting  him.       He  is  followed  by 
OSALDI,  ZENO,  URBINO,  and  others.] 

RISIFI. 

Hold  !  why  this  haste  ? 

And  yon  pert  stripling  by  my  daughter's  side — 
Who  may  he  be,  my  lord  ? 

GIOVANNI,  returning. 

One  who  now  holds 

Right  prior  to  me  here.     My  brother,  seignior  ; 
The  noblest  of  our  race,  a  youth  in  whom 
All  truest  virtues  live,  and  furthermore 
He  whom  high  Heav'n  ordains  to  wed  your  daughter. 

RISIFI. 

He  ?    This  slim  boy  ?    And  you,  Giovanni,  you, 
Who  but  an  hour  ago  received  her  hand 
From  me  in  fair  betrothal  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

I  am  a  soldier  ; 

The  sweets  of  love  and  fair  domestic  joys 
Are  not  for  me. 


96  RISIFI 'S  DAUGHTER. 

RISIFI. 

And  by  what  right,  my  lord, 
Do  you  adjudge  them  with  my  daughter  here 
Unto  this  stripling,  though  he  be  your  brother  ? 
Is  he  by  chance,  for  all  his  beardless  lip, 
Elder  than  you  in  years  ? 

GIOVANNI. 
No. 

RISIFI. 

Then,  by  heaven, 

I  know  no  law  or  human  or  divine 
That  can  ordain  him  to  espouse  my  child, 
Betrothed  but  now  to  thee. 

CAMILLO. 

Yet  is  there  one. 
RISIFI. 
Ha  !  would'st  thou  speak  ? 

CAMILLO. 

A  law  which  none  may  break, 
In  this  rough  world  of  few  and  fleeting  joys, 
Without  such  penalty  as  Nature  asks 
From  those  who  cross  her  will — the  law  of  Love. 

RISIFI. 

Love  !    'T  is  the  prate  of  fools.    I  know  not  love ; 
Nor  does  my  daughter,  hedged  about  and  in 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  97 

As  she  hath  been  from  earliest  infancy ; 

Or,  if  by  chance  the  watchfulness  of  years 

Has  been  in  vain,  and  by  some  loop-hole  small 

The  Devil  has  crept  in,  what  pow'r  hath  that 

To  make  me  yield  my  will.     I  'd  have  her  princess, 

And  princess  shall  she  be,  or  die  a  maid. 

CAMILLO. 
O  mad  ambition ! 

GINEVRA. 

Struggle  not  with  it ; 
Our  doom  is  fixed,  all  words  will  be  in  vain. 

ZENO    to  GIOVANNI. 

You  are  a  prince  ;  take  that  which  is  thine  own 
And  cease  this  foolish  strife. 

GIOVANNI. 

It  may  not  be. 

Seignior  Risifi,.on  thy  yea  or  nay 
Rests  this  young  maiden's  life.     For  love  is  life, 
And  loss  of  love  is  death.     Is  her  sweet  being 
Less  to  your  fatherhood  than  hope  of  rank  ? 
Her  happiness  and  honor,  peace  and  joy, 
Smaller  than  satisfaction  of  a  wish 
Never  called  holy,  never  born  in  heaven, 
But  gendered  in  the  bosom  of  that  angel 
Who  sold  himself  for  pride  ?     I  cannot  think  it ; 
The  strong  surprise  of  this  quick  change  has  turned 
Your  fatherhood  awry.    A  moment's  thought 
Will  bring  its  own  repentance. 


98  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

RISIFI. 

Say  you  so  ? 

Then  know  you  not  Risifi.     Sooner  far 
The  sun  shall  turn  its  back  upon  the  east 
And  trample  out  its  own  refulgent  steps 
Than  I  yield  up  my  purpose.     But  enough  ! 
If  one  short  hour  has  wearied  your  young  blood 
Of  charms  once  thought  so  bounteous  and  rare, 
Leave  her  and  go  thy  way  ;  I  urge  no  man 
Against  his  will  ;  but  talk  not  to  my  age 
Of  what  its  duties  are,  nor  in  the  shame 
Of  your  own  treason,  fetch  this  stripling  here 
To  gloss  o'er  your  default. 

GIOVANNI. 

Seignior,  my  griefs 

Needed  no  added  sting.     If  she  were  free, 
Naught  that  the  world  affords  of  pomp  or  power 
Could  win  her  from  my  arms.     But  she 's  not  free, 
And  I  who  hold  that  honor's  springs  lie  deep 
Beneath  all  selfish  yearning,  yield  her  up 
To  joys  more  truly  hers. 

RISIFI. 

'T  is  well ;  the  son 
Of  Uzzi's  lord  will  thank  you. 

GIOVANNI. 

Uzzi? 


RISIFI' S  DA  UGHTER.  99 

RISIFI. 

Ay, 
Dids't  think  such  charms  as  hers  had  tipped  the 

scale 
Against  your  pride  alone  ? 

CAMILLO. 

But  Uzzi,  seignior  ? 
It  is  a  villain  brood. 

RISIFI. 
It  is  a  lord's. 

GIOVANNI. 

O  this  is  horrible  ! 

CAMILLO. 

Most  horrible. 
Can'st  look  upon  this  sacrifice,  Giovanni  ? 

GIOVANNI. 
I? 

CAMILLO. 

She  is  young  ;  her  years  lie  long  before  her  ; 
Save  her  from  this  hard  fate  and  take  my  thanks. 

GIOVANNI. 

What,   would  you  tempt  me  with  that    thought 
again  ? 


IOO  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

CAMILLO. 

'T  is  no  temptation,  't  is  thy  rightful  due. 
Whate'er  may  chance,  I  ne'er  may  hope  to  wed  her, 
Then  why  not  thou  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

True,  true,  then  why  not  I  ? 

URBINO  to  RISIFI. 

He  yields,  Risifi  ;  urge  him  but  a  jot 
And  all  is  yours  again. 

RISIFI. 

I  urge  no  man 

Against  his  pleasure.     If  my  daughter's  charms 
Lack  power  to  hold  him  to  his  plighted  vow, 
Shall  words  of  mine  prevail  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

O  God  !  't  is  hard. 

RISIFI. 

And  is  that  all,  my  lord  ' 

GIOVANNI,  with  effort. 

All,  all,  alas  ! 

RISIFI. 

Then  are  we  quits.     Urbino,  to  the  doors  ! 
Let  our  guests  know  that  in  a  fortnight  hence 
We  celebrate  our  union  with  Count  Uzzi. 


KISIFI'S  DA  UGHTER.  IQI 

GINEVRA. 

O  no,  no,  no,  that  were  to  die  indeed  ! 

\Fallsat  GIOVANNI'S/^/. 
Save  me,  Giovanni,  save  me  from  a  fate 
Too  dreadful  for  my  strength. 

GIOVANNI. 

What  !  do  you  plead  ? 

0  heaven,  this  is  too  much  !     Rise,  lady,  rise, 

1  may  not  see  thee  thus. 

GINEVRA. 

Nor  may  I  rise 
Until  you  grant  my  suit. 

GIOVANNI. 

And  what  is  that  ? 

GINEVRA,  timidly. 
Most  graciously  to  wed  me,  seignior. 

GIOVANNI. 

Wed  thee  ? 

O  God  !  O  God  !    And  could'st  thou  wed  me,  lady, 
Be  my  pledged  wife  and  not  behold  in  dreams 
The  younger,  brighter,  dearer  face  of  him 
Who  stands  there  in  despair  ?     Look  at  him,  lady, 
Mark  well  his  face,  his  beauty,  and  his  love, 
And  tell  me,  by  the  heavens  which  bend  above  us, 
Could  you  do  this  ? 


102  JRISIFI'S  DA  UGHTER. 

GINEVRA,  wildly. 

I  know  not  ;  ask  me  not. 
My  thoughts  are  all  in  tumult. 

GIOVANNI. 

Thou  could' st  not  j 
I  see  it  in  thy  fond  and  failing  eye 
Which  droops  before  his  gaze.     Would'st  have  me 

wed 

The  lover  of  another  ?     Friends,  farewell  ; 
I  have  no  other  business  in  this  place.  [Going. 

RISIFI. 

And  now  to  fresh  betrothals  !     Sound  the  lute 
And  let  the  dance  whirl  on. 

[  Trumpet  heard  without. 
Ha  !  what  is  that  ? 

[Enter  Messenger. 

MESSENGER. 

A  summons  from  the  Duke  to  Count  Giovanni, 
Captain  by  right  of  birth  and  monies  promised 
Unto  the  cause  of  war. 

[GIOVANNI  advances,  takes  the  paper  offered,  is  about  to 
open  it,  but  suddenly  stops,  looks  at  RISIFI,  and 
drops  /'/.] 

RISIFI. 

By  monies  promised  ! 
My  lord,  have  you  such  monies  ? 


XISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  103 

GIOVANNI. 

No,  seignior,  no. 

I  had  forgot  to  whom  I  was  beholden 
For  ev'n  the  chance  to  die. 

RISIFI,  pointing  to  the  packet. 

Then  let  it  lie 
Till  Uzzi  comes  to  lift  it. 

[GIOVANNI   starts  forward,   but  instantly    recovers 

himself.] 
GIOVANNI. 

Nay,  't  is  true. 

My  captaincy  is  gone  with  this  child's  love, — 
All,  all  in  one  quick  breath. 

ZENO. 

Nor  that  alone  ; 

Thy  house,  thy  father,  thy  young  brother  too, 
Sink  in  the  ruin  with  thee. 

OSALDI. 

Ah,  't  is  so,  't  is  so, 

Our  house  is  fallen  !     All  my  hopes  but  served 
To  lift  its  misery  plainer  into  view 
For  all  men's  mockery. 

ZENO. 

Draw  thy  sword,  Giovanni, — 
Thy  grandsire's  sword  that  was  to  carve  our  way 
To  reinstatement.     Can'st  thou  look  on  it 


IO4  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

And  not  recall  the  hopes  its  mem'ries  gave, 
The  day  you  drew  it  first  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Zeno,  no  more. 

CAMILLO. 

And  this  dear  maiden  whom  you  love  so  well. 
Look  at  her,  brother  ;  can  you  see  such  beauty 
Flung  to  an  Uzzi's  keeping  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

Cease,  O  cease  ! 

Man's  heart  can  bear  no  more.     Whate'er  betides, 
Uzzi  stays  hence.     Forth  to  the  courier,  man  ; 
Bid  him  acquaint  the  Duke  that  e'er  to-morrow 
His  captain  will  be  there. 

ZENO. 

I  live  again. 

OSALDI. 

And  I,  who  thought  to  leave  my  aged  bones 
Upon  this  hostile  floor. 

GIOVANNI. 

And  thou,  Camillo  ? 

CAMILLO. 

My  highest  love  cries  Ay,  howe'er  my  heart 
Bleeds  at  its  heavy  loss. 


RISIFI' S  DAUGHTER.  105 

GIOVANNI. 

Brother,  I  love  thee. 

Remember  this  when  from  the  field  of  war 
Ginevra's  bridegroom  brings  the  bays  of  fame 
To  crown  his  wreath  of  love. 

CAMILLO. 

I  will  remember. 
[GIOVANNI  turns  to  depart. 

RISIFI. 

Whither  would'st  go,  my  lord  ? 

GIOVANNI. 

To  seek  a  priest 
Who  '11  bind  this  knot  at  once. 

RISIFI. 

I  '11  seek  him,  seignior  ; 
Thy  place  is  at  her  side.  \Exit. 

GIOVANNI   to  GINEVRA. 

Sweet,  may  I  take  it  ? 

[She  gives  him  her  hand. 
Thanks,  dearest  lady  ;  may  the  happy  man 
Who  calls  thee  wife  love  thee  but  half  as  well 
As  he  you  honor  thus.     Father,  your  blessing. 

OSALDI. 

You  have  it,  son,  poured  out  as  full  and  free 
As  though  you  were  the  only  hope  I  had. 
And  this  thy  top-most  hour. 


106  RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER. 

GIOVANNI. 

Brother — but  no  ! 

Confession  must  be  made  ere  marriage  vows, 
And  lo  !  here  conies  the  priest. 

\Enter  RISIFI  with  a  priest. 

Ah  !  holy  father, 
Wilt  shrive  me  ere  you  wed  me  ? 

PRIEST. 

Gladly,  son. 
[GIOVANNI,  lifting  the  curtain  from  before  a 

small  closet.] 

In,  then,  and  may  high  Heav'n  rain  dews  of  joy 
Upon  the  hearts  I  leave  here. 

[Exit  slowly,  looking  at  GINEVRA 

LEON. 

What  means  this  shudder  ? 
I  feel  as  though  mine  eyes  had  seen  his  ghost. 

ZENO. 

And  I ;  yet  all  is  well.     'T  is  but  his  grief 
At  robbing  his  young  brother  of  the  love 
So  suited  to  his  years. 

OSALDI. 

O  Zeno,  Zeno ! 

How  like  his  mother  did  he  look  but  now. 
Should  there  be  aught  amiss  ! 


RISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  1 07 

RISIFI,  aside. 

I  wished  it,  yet 
My  blood  runs  cold  within  me. 

GINEVRA    to   BIANCA. 

Were  it  wrong 

To  cast  one  farewell  glance  at  him  I  loved 
Before  this  duty  claimed  me  ? 

BIANCA. 

It  were  not  wise 

But .     [A  cry  within.']     What  is  that  ? 

\Enter  the  priest  hurriedly. 

PRIEST. 

Death  !  death  !  The  noble  count 
Hath  turned  his  sword  against  his  own  brave  heart, 
And  all  is  over. 

OSALDI. 
O  my  mastering  fears  ! 

LEON,  rushing  and  dragging  aside  the  curtain  from 

before  the  closet. 
My  lord  ? 

CAMILLO. 

Giovanni  ? 

OSALDI. 

Ah,  my  son,  my  son  ! 


108  XSSIFf'S  DAUGHTER. 

GIOVANNI. 

Hush,  it  is  done.     My  sword  has  cut  the  knot 
That  baffled  all  our  skill.     Camillo,  brother, 
You  love  this  gentle  child  ? 

CAMILLO. 

I  !  O  thou  know'st. 

GIOVANNI. 

Then  take  her  hand  in  thine.     I  'm  dying,  brother, 
And  you  are  now  the  heir.     But  these  have  said 
Osaldi's  heir  should  wed  Risifi's  daughter  ; 
Dost  comprehend  me  now  ? 

CAMILLO. 

O  brother  !  brother ! 
GIOVANNI. 

No  words, — your  hands — thine,  lady, — thine,  Ca 
millo — 

What,  have  I  lost  my  sense  ?  I  do  not  feel 
The  touch  of  thine,  Camillo. 

CAMILLO. 

'T  is  too  awful. 


GIOVANNI. 

No,  now. 


KISIFI'S  DAUGHTER.  IOQ 


RISIFI. 


Give  him  thy  hand. 

Would  'st  kill  him  twice  and  make  the  girl  a  widow 
Before  her  sixteenth  year  ? 

[CAMILLO  gives  his  hand. 

GIOVANNI. 

So,  you  will  love  each  other. 
Friends,  lift  me  up.  A  light,  there  on  her  face  ! 
I  'd  see  her  once  again.  So,  so.  [Sinks  back. 

LEON. 

O  live,  Giovanni ! 

GIOVANNI  starting  to  his  feet  and  standing. 
No,  die  !  [Falls  back  dead. 


THE    END. 


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